PrinceHotGinge's Most Shocking Rose Ceremony Ever
by halojones
Summary: Prince Hot Ginge & The Most Shocking Rose Ceremony Ever    summary: Edward's forced to single handedly rehabilitate his family's tarnished brand name by becoming the next "Bachelor." Bella's an out-of-work nanny looking for free room and board.Lols ensue
1. Chapter 1

**Prince Hot Ginge And the Most Shocking Rose Ceremony Ever**

summary: Edward's forced to single handedly rehabilitate his family's tarnished brand name by becoming the next "Bachelor." Bella's an out-of-work nanny who's looking for free rent and three square meals a day. Lols and forced hilarity ensue.

**Chapter 1: You're the Jordan Knight to my Danny Wood**

a/n: I have two other stories to finish up, but needed a little something fun to write while working on the other updates. Short chapters, short story, short turn around time for updates- 1-2 times a week.

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_Cormia gasped in shock - or was it agitated delight? - at the carnal spectacle before her. Phury's hot steaming member protruded out haughtily, preening for her in all it's twitchy glory-_

"That sounds like a turd coming out or something."

My head snapped up, utter embarrassment being broadcasted across my flushed cheeks in bright crimson.

"I mean, you're trying to describe a penis, right?" Her tone was more conciliatory now, as a shock of dark brown ringlets came into view.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry. We've just been in this line for so long now, I couldn't help but sneak a peek at what you've been typing."

Big brown eyes and a warm smile accompanied the other features; and suddenly, the intrusion didn't seem as offensive as an enthusiastic hand stretched out my way.

"Let me start over. I'm Miko Jones. Actress - slash - model - slash - singer. Part time reality contestant. I was on the first season of Rock of Love."

Ms. Jones voice and face and bod attested to all three slashes of hers. I shook my head in anticipation for what I had to volley back.

"Bella Swan. Nanny - slash - Elder Care Giver - slash - freelance writer. First time reality contestant hopeful." An internal groan lodged in my throat - the thought of "hoping" to be on reality television was bad enough. Voicing such hopes was downright pathetic.

"An elder care giver with a fifth call back? That's a first." Miko eyed me up and down now, Ms. Jones did. No doubt wondering how my scrawny, mousey, care-giving ass got this far in the auditions. It was a fluke really - Angela forced me to come along with her for the initial weeding process:

xx

"What do you have to lose, Bella? It's guaranteed room and board for a whole three months. They're switching it up this season too. If you make the top twenty cut, they keep you in the mansion for the remainder of the show, even if you're the first one kicked off! "

THAT - that right there was what got my mind racing. How hard could it be to make the top twenty, and then purposefully get kicked off at the very beginning? That would leave me loads of Infinity pool lounging time while writing the great American novel.

Or at least a chapter or five of smutty fanfiction.

Angela saw the lightbulb go off in my head, and drove it on home.

"Then you could quit your job with Old Man Perkins. No more accidental hairy knuckle breast brushes while you change his bedpan!"

Times had been hard since my nanny job went bust after the family relocated. I'd been stuck taking the odd babysitting jobs here and there while putting in long hours with a randy senior citizen who popped Viagra like they were Tic Tacs.

And then there was the prospect of not having to live with Old Man Charlie in that shithole called Forks all summer either.

"You'd be living in a Malibu mansion, Bella. Twenty minutes from Hollywood, the heartland for all aspiring screenwriters. You don't want to write fanfiction forever."

xx

No, no I didn't. I didn't want to get stuck watching after others while my own life was put on lay-a-way either. So I took Angela's challenge and auditioned. A first call-back came, and then a second and a third. Angela's phone stopped ringing while mine continued with a fourth call-back. Getting to the last phase of the audition felt like I was so close to nabbing this - until I saw the other finalists. They were in a different league than me, ready-for-primetime beauties that only made my first and last name seem like a punchline.

"I know, I know...I don't belong here," my words rushed out a tad too defensively. "This all seemed pretty doable when I was just meeting with the casting directors. But seeing who I'm up against here? Yeah, stick a fork in it, I'm done."

Miko glanced over the room with a knowing grin.

"Yeah, Mr. Bachelor definitely has a type huh? Platinum blondes who've won the titty lottery." Miko leaned in more closely, her next words whispered conspiratorially. "But that's where WE stand out."

I wasn't sure how Miko was getting grouped in with me all of the sudden. She was gorgeous and her knockers could take a couple cantalopes down for the count.

"Haven't you watched any reality shows, Bella?"

"Um...I just told you I was a nanny and elder care giver. Television time was limited to either grown men who sang about getting the wiggles for children or Jane Seymour hawking liver spot cream on the Home Shopping Network."

Miko inquired further into my pop cultural fluency, only finding some common ground with my extensive boy band knowledge.

"Think of it this way, Bella. Not everyone can be the hot blonde in a boy band. You can't have five Justin Timerlakes or five Nick Carters on stage at once. They'd cancel eachother out eachother's blonde hotness. All these girls in here? Are totally canceling eachother out too."

She had a point. There was only a small handful of us who didn't fit some set Nazi Hitler Youth standard in the whole room.

"This is where YOU come in. You are the Chris Kirkpatrick to all these interchangeable Justins in here - an AJ Mclean to their Nick. What would the Backstreet Boys have been without AJ Mclean?"

Was that a trick question, I pondered?

"Better looking and less bald?"

Miko gave me an indulgent smile.

"True... but that baldness brought a touch of vulnerability and humanity to the group, while making Nick's hair look even better. You could bring a similar humanity to the show too if you played your cards correctly."

Translation: While I couldn't compete with these models, I could angle myself as a "Mary Sue" type that viewers could live through and relate to. My face scrunched up in reflexive distaste, but that didn't stop Miko from continuing.

"And AJ found his niche eventually, don't forget. He didn't become the "guy with the effed up facial hair" overnight and on his own. Lou Pearlman sculpted him into the boybander we know him as today. Let me help you find your reality niche, Bella. Let me be your Lou Pearlman. If you let me help you, we'll have an unstoppable alliance together on this show!"

I looked around for signage that confirmed that I was in the right place. "Wait a minute. Am I trying out for "The Bachelor" or "Suvivor?" And if you become my Lou Pearlman, will I be forced to mow your lawn in daisy dukes? 'Cause I think that's what all those Backstreet Boys had to do for their own last call back...backstreet being the operative term here..."

"Aha." Miko nodded her head knowingly. "So, you're one of those types who manages social discomfort with awkward, rambling humor. That's gotta be nipped in the bud asap before you start filming, honey."

A part of me wanted to be offended. This girl barely introduced herself before calling me out as plain. At the same time though, she seemed to know the ropes of this reality game better than I did. And the visual of an air-conditioned Malibu estate, completely free of that handsy Old Man Perkins popped into my head again. There were worse things than being the AJ Mclean of the room, really.

She could have pegged me more for a Danny Wood from the New Kids on the Block.

"Okay, I'm game. You can be my personal Lou Pearlman. But if I'm the female equivalent to AJ in the group, which boy bander type are you?"

She smiled as if I were missing the obvious. "I'm not boy band material. I'm more of a solo artist, like Justin Beiber - only with my balls descended."

"Yikes, you've got Lou Pearlman in the same body as a puberty-bound Beiber? Someone call Child Protective Services."

Within minutes, Miko was teaching me how to let my reality programming balls descend too.

"You have to create a narrative for your life story, sweetie. And your narrative smacks of Cinderella with some Sleeping Beauty on top. You work hard, care for others, yet have no time to care for yourself."

She whipped a lock of my hair into her hand: "Look at this, so flat and unstyled!"

Her eyes drifted over my body again. " And clothes most likely from the sale rack at Old Navy. You are screaming makeover, not just in looks but in life. ABC will eat this shit up - it's owned by Disney you know."

xx

By the time my name was called for my final interview, Miko had done wonders on my "narrative." She took my hands in hers.

"Let's try to this one more time. Remember, this is the last push to sell yourself as an indispensable personality for their series. Now give me all you've got, mousey brunette who is just waiting to turn into a swan."

I closed my eyes, and then opened them back up all doe-like, just like Miko instructed.

"Hi, my name is Bella Swan. My parents divorced at an early age, leaving me to fend for myself since I was saddled with a child-like, inept mother and an emotionally constipated father. I learned to nurture both parents as I nurtured myself. And as a result, I gravitated toward care-giving employment options such as a baby-sit-"

"Au -pair!" Miko interjected. "Au-pair makes you sound more accomplished."

I swallowed hard in concentration. "...such as an au-pair and care giver to the elderly. With so much time devoted to helping others, I thought maybe once..."

I paused dramatically, letting my eyes reach their most outer doe-eyed limits.

"Good, Bella...stretch it out just a little more for maximum effect," Miko coached.

"Just once, I would try to do something for myself." I shrugged my shoulders methodically. "And here I am."

I paused again, blushing on cue. The fact I could blush on command freaked Miko out initially, but then she concluded it would be my secret weapon.

"It's going to be your signature quality, the camera is going to eat it up. AJ Mclean had intricately shaved facial hair, and Bella Swan? Bella Swan has THE blush." She clapped her hands excitedly. "Your parents are going to be so proud of you, snagging a reality spot on your first time out!"

I shook my head in skepticism.

"Yeah, their excitement may be dampened somewhat with the whole my-parents-sucked embellishments we tacked on there at the end."

Nothing could bring Miko down from her mentoring prowess though. "I'm just saying, Bella. I know you are only setting your sights on the top twenty; but if you keep up that blushing-doe eyes two step of yours, you may just win this whole kit and kaboodle, along with a rich hottie."

I couldn't help but snort indelicately.

"Yeah, doubt that very highly. These bachelor guys always look like used car salesman douches holding roses they probably bought at a freeway offramp from a guy who also sold them oranges."

Miko put her finger to her mouth, reminding me that my awkward social stylings were showing through again.

"I'm just saying, unless the bachelor happens to be a hot ginge prince named Harry, I'm not interested."

"Hot ginge, huh?" Miko crossed her arms while sporting a cryptic smile. "Well, if the rumors are true about who will be the next bachelor, your ginge wishes might come true."

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	2. Esme's Big Boy

**Prince Hot Ginge and the Most Shocking Rose Ceremony Ever**

**Chapter 2: Esme's Big Boy**

a/n: Thanks for the reviews!

**ALICE**

I walked in just in time. The photo shoot was quickly degenerating into another epic Cain and Abel bitchslap fest between my two brothers.

They took turns donning the two different roles, but today it seemed they were both tag-teaming Cain.

Edward stood rigidly while holding a rose the way Emmett holds my young daughter – at arm's length.

The photographer tried to coax a smile out of him, but he wouldn't budge past a smirk.

"Put the rose closer to your head, Edward, like this." Emmett cradled a phantom rose near his dimples, smiling the boyish smile that launched a thousand blondes – not to mention a fair share of redheads. Edward monopolized the brunettes, which was a good thing. Brothers who were as competitive as these two needed clear lines of romantic demarcation.

The photographer nodded with approval, clearly impressed with Emmett's natural tendency to whore it up for a camera.

"How about like THIS, Em." Before the words were even out of Edward's mouth, he pelted the long stemmed flower smack dab in between Emmett's eyes.

Emmett may have been the athlete in the family, but Edward always had a decent arm on him.

"Truce, white flagged lull, whatever and all that!" I ran quickly in front of Edward before Em could retaliate.

"Let's take a quick ten minute break," I said, all smiles at the crew while thumbing up at Edward." And I'll have this big handsome lug smiling for you in no time."

I guided him to a back room without another word, and locked the door.

"No, Em, you can't come in," Edward yelled a beat before Emmett actually knocked. His voice lowered , accompanied by a grim stare. "Give it up. What am I dealing with and how bad is it?"

Well, Edward already knew it was bad. He was on "The Bachelor" for starters, a role originally intended for Emmett.

xx

Daddy had warned Emmett from the beginning it was a trainwreck in the making. The reality show had a reputation for scouting out the most attractive and attention-getting offspring of famous families. The Cullen name brand started out humbly enough, with my parents opening up a small bakery that focused on high quality doughnuts and muffins along with a killer cup of coffee. That first store morphed into a franchise of bakery/coffeehouse combos that went nationwide, then international. A Cullen-branded baked good supermarket line soon followed, giving that Pillsbury DoughSlut a run for his shelf space money. Add in a sprinkle of my parents milfy/dilfy good looks and philanthropic efforts that often made headlines, and voila! Our family's name was synonymous with wholesome, baked-good hotness.

Emmett was a natural choice for the Bachelor series. He was tall, dark and handsome, high up in the family biz, extroverted and charming, had no scandals that would tarnish our name or the shows...

That is, until he unwittingly starred on another reality just weeks prior to being named the next reality prince. "Cheaters," a guerilla shooting style reality show that publicly confronted infidels in the act of cheating , shot a segment of Emmett being "caught" with a sweet young thing by a recently "retired" girlfriend. Em wasn't technically cheating, but the Bachelor producers dropped him faster than one of our hot-crossed buns.

While Emmett's stint on "Cheaters" was making the tabloid rounds, other outlets recycled an old story about my own reality moment in the sun, when years back I gained notoriety for being the only pregnant breast flasher to make the cut for a "Girls Gone Wild" video. (Don't judge, I got a then-awesome trucker hat out of the gig).

My family circled wagons and rounded up the lawyers, ready to do whatever it took to protect our family – as well as our family branding name. Rumors of Emmett being the next Bachelor had already circulated, and while ABC wouldn't dream of reinstating him, they finally offered up an alternative that my family couldn't pass up:

"We won't use your heir, so give us your scandal-free spare."

xxx

"What am I dealing with Alice, and how bad is it?"

"Good news? They didn't pull some Jerry Springer freak fest on you in terms of contestants. Most of them seem well-adjusted, professionally viable. Definitely hand-picked for Emmett's physical preferences in terms of bust-out babes, but most of them have brains to back up the rack."

He hurried me along, his hand waving impatiently: "Bad news?"

I cringed. "I can't exactly tell who's in this for the wrong reasons, save it for a few exceptions."

Because make no mistake about it – Edward needed to find a girl who wanted to do this for the wrong reason. He was not in pursuit of love by any means; even if he were, it wouldn't go down on a reality show. And when he was done taking one for the Cullen team, he wanted to slip back into civilian life with as few tabloid covers as possible. He needed to "rose" a girl who would use the show for her gain like he was, but not use him in turn.

"There's three front runners who I hope make the cut though. " I took out my phone that had secret recordings from this morning's last round of interviews with the girls – compliments of me.

"Contestant number one? I call her The Game Player. She has previous reality show experience, but doesn't seem to be looking for tabloid infamy. She seems more interested in ascending the reality show ladder instead of getting a scandalous cover for OK! Magazine."

Edward watched in silence, his eyebrows unknitting slightly as a certain Miko Jones talked and joked her way through interview with ease.

"Pretty."

"Beautiful," I corrected. " Very vivacious, fun. But smart with a good head on her shoulders. She definitely has potential."

Edward nodded in agreement as we moved onto the next subject.

"Contestant number two? I call her The Professional. No previous reality show experience, but she's an ex-beauty queen with dual degrees in Poly Sci and Journalism. My guess is she'd use this opportunity to transition into a cushy telejournalistc spot. You don't waste a face and bod like that on newsprint."

Edward's eyebrow arched as he took in the crown jewel of the contestant pool. A low, approving whistle came out, but he covered it up with a joke. "Emmett can probably sniff her out from behind that door."

Her interview was controlled and professional, never once did you see a chink in her armor. Edward noted how articulate she was too.

"And last but not least, this is our Dark Horse. No college degree, just two years of junior college so far. An au pair - younger than the rest of the girls. But she seems to have very little stake in the whole process. I'm guessing she may be a girl who just wants a vacation, and isn't calculated or ambitious enough to want more."

That got his attention. The less invested the contestant was, the better.

Her big brown eyes flashed upon the screen. "Not prom queenish like the others; but pretty, fresh faced. Great skin and hair up close. "

He nodded, watching intently. Her answers were less polished than the others. She seemed downright embarrassed by all the romantic inquiries, rolling her eyes often. But in the next breath she'd flash a rascally grin that only Emmett could rival and couple it up with a wisecrack. One of which actually got Edward to snicker.

Her mood changed once more towards the end, growing more earnest. Someone asked her why a caregiver, someone who was used to being behind the scenes, was motivated to do something so front and center for once. Her sweet face lowered as the words came out quietly:

"Just once, I want to do something for myself."

Edward threw me some cuteye that could have pierced through glass.

"You and me both."

Edward was so melodramatic sometimes.

'Your last sentence sounded like something Ariel would sing while forking her hair in the "The Little Mermaid." She's a ginger too, and you know what they say about gingers and drama..."

He raised an accusing finger up.

"No ginger jokes. Not in the mood for ginger jokes today."

I couldn't help but tease him. How could I not? I was his big sister.

But there were two things I treaded lightly upon with Edward: his hair and his ass.

Sure, today he needed a bat and one of my daughter's day-old diapers to keep the women at bay. But that wasn't always the case. Emmett was the golden boy for a long stretch in the family, always dimpled and curly haired and tall for his age.

But Edward had been more on the awkward side. His auburn hair was cracked out all the time – even five minutes after Mom combed it. He was chubby, making him the relentless target of schoolyard bullies. That one-two punch of hair and ass, along with an older brother who had a six pack by third grade, gave him a complex.

A complex that would be magnified exponentially. Because while he was still knee deep in middle school awkwardness, in the grand tradition of Dave Thomas of the Wendy's Fast Food empire, my mother made Edward's kindergarten photo the figurehead for our very own "Esme's Big Boy" bakery franchise.

To this day, Edward's Dennis-the- Menace- with- a- thyroid-problem mug can be found plastered in strip malls across America. And while the baby fat melted away and he now tamed his hair with sheer force and a host of hair products, there were still flashes of that insecure boy underneath.

"Fine, no more talk of gingers. But remember: there are worse things in life than being given a temporary harem."

I attempted to turn off the recording of Ms. Dark Horse when he stopped me and paused the screen.

"Is she blushing?" Edward's face focused closer on the screen now, the pretty brunette's face staring back at him invitingly.

"Yes, I believe that is a blush. It's like you're seducing her right through the camera, you Lothario. "

He bristled and snorted, but he couldn't fool me. She had charmed him.

Edward was never one to mix business and pleasure though.

"I like The Professional," he stated as I turned off my phone. "If her goal is to snag a job for her actual profession, that means she has the most at stake to maintain some dignity in this whole mess. What's her name again?"

"Rosalie Hale."

He frowned at the dated moniker for such a thoroughly modern babe.

"And I'm guessing she's flipping off her ancestral namesake as we speak," I added.

Edward clapped his hands decisively.

"Well then, Rosalie Hale, let's see if you'll accept this rose that some personal assistant got at a freeway off ramp from the same guy selling oranges out of his truck."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

a/n: Yes, I'm modeling poor Edward's childhood look after the Bob's Big Boy and the Wendy's girl. Don't know these American pop cultural fast-food icons? I'll put links for both of them on the top of my ff profile. And take special note that Wendy is hot ginge too!


	3. The Whole Enchilada

**Prince Hot Ginge and The Most Shocking Ceremony Ever**

**Chapter 3: The Whole Enchilada**

**a/n: Thanks for the reviews! I was on vacation this week, so this is a couple days late. You are all lovely. **

"_Cormia's engorged nub silently beckoned to Phury, and the response was immediate. A dark, spicy scent diffused from his every pore, thick with manhood, musk-and a slight note of paprika."_

Miko looked up from my screen monitor, eyebrows knitted.

"Dark and spicy? Why am I imagining this Phury guy like a big A1 Steak Sauce bottle with a Tina Turner wig on top?"

"That's his male bonding scent- duh. It can't be light and fruity." I tried to keep a straight face while defending J.R. Ward's Chippendales stamp on the vampire world, and Phury in particular. Of course out of all the virile characters in the series, I had to fall for the insistent virgin with pretty man hair.

Typical. I can't even get laid in my literary dreams.

"Also, his hair isn't like Tina Turner's. It's more like John Stamos' eighties mullet with subtle highlights. There's a difference."

Sorta.

"And engorged nub is the clitoris right, Bella? Because it sounds more like a bloated kernel of corn that cooked too long in the microwave."

We'd spent all day like this, exchanging our laptops for crash courses in the other's field of expertise. My laptop opened up the world of smutty fanfiction for Miko. Her laptop was giving me a master class in reality contestant tactics and survival techniques.

'You need to get through a season each of "The Bachelor," "Survivor," and "The Apprentice" by tonight,' she instructed. "And tomorrow we'll start off with the "Amazing Race."'

By some minor miracle, I'd cracked the top twenty for "The Bachelor." When my new friend called to let me know she made the cut as well, I insisted we celebrate. The network was paying us a daily food stipend until we got moved into the mansion. Why not stick it to the major network man with some Mexican food on his dime?

"I'm thinking…..like a big ass Fried Chimichanga, doubled up on the ranchero sauce. Ew, and Fried Ice Cream for dessert. I can't believe we get twenty dollars per meal – food stipends are the best!"

Miko waited a beat before answering.

"Yes, stipends are helpful. But you need you to aim your ambition arrow a little higher than food allowances here. You just made top twenty on the most lucrative reality show around your first time out. This could be just the beginning for you in terms of opportunities, not the end. But you're getting sidetracked by free ice machines at our Best Western Hotel and dickmatized by free chimichangas! "

"Hey, it's not just any ice machine ," I interrupted . "The ice comes out almost shaved. I made a snow cone out of it last night with a packet of Splenda I stole from the lobby."

"Wow, Bella, that arrow is pointing lower than I realized. You can't steal sugar packets that are complimentary."

Miko launched into some lecture about geese and golden eggs. When my stomach wasn't growling over her words, I heard her talking about me being a farmer. And "The Bachelor" was the goose that could lay me better golden eggs than just free refried beans – as long as I didn't kill it off too soon with an early exit.

"Yuck. I hate eggs. You need to work with a better metaphor here."

Miko mumbled an interesting string of expletives before continuing.

"Fine. Let's say "The Bachelor" is an all-you-can-eat buffet."

"Now we're talking," I chimed in.

"And it's offering you so many entrees . Like paid speaking engagement burritos, and Miko/Bella tag teaming "Amazing Race" sopas, or the next Bachelorette Star masa cakes. But for some reason, Ms. Swan just puts some cold refried beans on her plate, takes a couple packets of Splenda, and splits. "

I gasp. Because no Mexican buffet visit should ever end before you annihilate the taco station.

"Let's continue this over lunch, Bella. I can practically hear your eyes glazing over in food lust. But remember, don't sell yourself short. You deserve the whole enchilada."

Mmmm….melted cheese and sauce…

" And to take advantage of the entire buffet spread, you need to pull up your big girl, elastic-waist banded panties and stick it out longer than one ceremony. I can promise you right now those other top twenty strumpets are scheming their way through the Flan table as we speak."

Why did Miko always make the "The Bachelor" sound like it was more parts Battleship than Spin-the-Bottle?

xxx

The chimichanga? Not fried enough. Needed more oil.

The accompanying ranchero sauce? A bit salty.

But their dome of nachos, complete with guacamole and black beans and carne asada? To die for.

"Good god! You're going to explode if you eat another bite of queso, " Miko scolded as I polished the last of the chips.

My ability to eat a small village in one sitting often impressed the fine folks in Forks. Miko just seemed conflicted on whether to sign me up for a guest spot on "Man Vs. Food" or to get my stomach pumped at the hospital.

"Where does all that food go inside such a beansy little body like yours, Bella?"

Beansy.

She didn't even realize she made a joke.

Only after tapping the hell out of some churros, was I finally ready for Miko's reality master class.

But then I sped-watched a season of "The Apprentice," where sworn friends threw eachother under a bus at the slightest provocation in front of Mr. Trump. And then there were the contestants on "Survivor," lying about family deaths to get ahead. The players on "The Bachelor" weren't much better. Air kisses and hair braiding were abandoned once someone saw an opening to get closer to the prized set stallion.

Ten hours of treacherous reality viewing later, and all I wanted to do was suck my thumb and fall into the fetal position. I wasn't good at scheming, or plotting or manipulating. And if these reality shows were any indication, those were the only qualities that were rewarded on a reality show set.

"This reality stuff is some Lord-of-the- Flies shit! Why do I have the feeling my name is Piggy and these top twenty bitches will throw boulders on my ass Roger-style within five minutes of the first taping?"

Miko smiled, seemingly proud at my newfound clarity.

"Because that's always a possibility in reality land. Reality contestants are a special breed; if you show a little vulnerability, they'll circle in for the kill right away. That's why you buddy up early with someone you trust to keep a united front."

She pointed back and forth between the two of us.

"And if you don't self-sabotage this, we'll make a pretty unstoppable force. Stick with me kid, and you'll be pilfering ice from the finest hotels in no time flat."

I saw where Miko was going with this. We did make a good team – we meshed well, and she made me see the opportunities that accompanied a successful reality run. But it was starting to sink in that there was a price to be paid for the free room and board I nabbed this summer.

Every single series I'd just watched was identical in its social psychological implications: people conspiring to pick off the weakest members until only the most ruthless were left standing. That familiar sort of cunning was why I couldn't wait to get out of high school. Why I preferred hanging out with kids and old people on my job, even if they did tend to crap their pants. With toddlers and pepaws, you always knew where you stood with them. With my peers though, I felt like I was two steps behind at all times, with no chance of ever catching up.

It was one thing to deal with my social ineptitude in real life. It was another thing to expose it on national television for others entertainment. Miko's master class ended up having the opposite effect than she intended. She thought it would fortify me, prep me for the challenges to come. Instead it made me want to throw in the towel earlier and with the least amount of social embarrassment.

And make no mistake about it, I was going to be embarrassed. Who didn't make fun of AJ Mclean when he tried to hang with his pretty boy counterparts? I was going to be filmed next to models whose legs were longer than my total height. I was going to be filmed making small talk with beauty queens, most likely upsetting the genteel balance of conversation with weird asides. No doubt they'd catch me tripping at some point, or talking with food stuck in between my teeth. And wasn't that the point for my presence?

And I'd take it all in stride, until I found some one-on-one time with the bachelor. And then and only then would I deliver some Grade "A" crazy that would ensure that I wouldn't receive a rose at the end of the night.

**xxxxxxxx**

Miko and I walked into the large warehouse backroom, looking for any signs of life. Life had been busy in the last week, including filming biographical shorts for the show. I'd traveled home, making sure they got footage with my parents and friends. The most embarrassing part was having to film shots that would accompany my voiceover. That included a lot of shots of me walking, trying to look dreamily at the sky while wishing for my true love to come. The camera dude kept getting pissed off at me for only making it a couple steps before cracking up.

Today we'd packed up our belongings from our hotel rooms and were going to move into the big bachelor whorehouse in Malibu. I'd only seen the other contestants in passing, and that was encouraged, Miko told me.

"They prefer us to be sequestered from one another, that way when we all move into the mansion together, there's more chance of girl fights and hair pulling over bedroom preferences."

Nice.

But right now at this very minute? We were dealing with wardrobe crap.

"Excuse me? Crap? This is like heaven, Bella, with clothes and shoes at our disposal!" In case it wasn't apparent, Miko's feelings for shoes were identical to my feelings for fried foods.

A petite girl finally sauntered up, giving us both a once-over.

"Hello, girls. I'm Alice. I was told to make everyone look pretty for the television debut, and you two are going to make my job very easy today. Why don't you tell me your names and a little bit about yourselves?"

Miko shook her hand enthusiastically. Ass kisser.

"Miko Jones. I'm the token ethnic girl that every WASPY bachelor needs in his pool of dating possibilities. The sole chocolate chip in a bowl full of sugar cookie dough. I'm half-Japanese, half-black, and a virtual two-for-one special for casting directors."

"Well, Ms. Jones, that's the most original if not slightly jaded introduction I've had all morning." Alice appraised her with a wide smile, then looked in my direction. I waved back.

"Bella Swan. I'm the token "mousey brunette" of the cast. I also don't have ginormous boobs. I'm not sure if flat-chestedness qualifies as an ethnicity; but in reality land, it definitely puts me on the endangered species list."

Alice clasped her hands together, letting them rest underneath her chin. "Ohhhh, you two and your piss n' vinegar tongues are going to be trouble for the bachelor! Like you're going to tag team him and stuff I bet!"

She seemed a little too excited by the prospect, her eyes lighting up with mischief.

"Yeah, I don't know about that," I countered. "Unless we get some tie-in for an after-hours special on the Spice Channel."

Miko nodded at my words, then took the conversation in a whole different direction.

"Speaking of tag teaming…Alice, you seem like a reasonable sort of girl. We need you to settle a debate between us."

All Alice gave her was a slight shrug, but that was enough for Miko to start in about my supersekrit fanfiction writing identity-

"She's PhuryJonesinmahbones69…you can look her profile up on vampirefiction dot com..."

And my particular brand of fanfiction writing poison-

"And there's these shit-kicker wearing vampires with monster-truck penii that splooge and splooge for hours when they climax…"

And the fact that my fanfiction was light on plot, heavy on smut -

"Yeah,don't let the doe eyes fool you. She has full-on dialogues between Phury's testicles…"

Even as I cupped a hand over her motormouth, she was insistent on Alice being the tie-breaker of an earlier debate from this morning.

"Tell her, Alice. Tell Bella that nipples don't pebble!"

"Whaaaaat?" Alice looked completely confused by the exchange. I jumped in to try to shut this whole conversation down.

"Look up "pebble" in the dictionary, Miko. It can mean a small, rounded stone OR crinkled surface. Booyah – that's a double definition application!"

Alice's eyes volleyed between the two of us now, listening intently.

"Dictionary smitchtionary." Miko rolled her eyes while unbuttoning her blouse." Watch, I'll tweak my own nipple through my bra and you'll see that it does not pebble."

She looked down for a second. "Oh, wait, I don't have a bra. I'll just bareback it."

My hands slapped over my eyes.

"I will not watch, I swear to God. My daddy told me Hollywood would corrupt me and it's already happening with nipple tweak-offs in broad daylight…."

Alice threw up arms in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'll be the tie-breaker here if Miko promises to get her hand out of her shirt."

She leaned in closer once Miko was modest again, pointing towards both our modest bustlines. "Bella and I pebble."

Her index finger then turned toward my busty friend. " Ms. Jones _boulders_."

And just like that? Our army of two became a party of three.

"Oh, you two girls are fun." Alice sat back, her arms crossed as if she just accomplished an ample feat. "Good, he deserves some fun finally."

xx

Once the nipple debate dust settled, Alice went to work on Miko first. She carted out a rack full of dress choices for her that had already been assembled. They were all eye-popping confections with plunging necklines. With her background in modeling, Miko didn't think twice about pulling trou in front of us while she rattled off about her hometown and family. Each new dress looked more spectacular than the last one, until she put on a little golden number that was destined for her legs and skin tone.

"Oh, that's it, honey. That's definitely it," Alice whispered in bodily reverence. "You are going to stand out amongst all the pastel prom dresses a lot of the other girls seemed to gravitate toward."

Miko told me standing out was good. That first impressions were of the utmost importance. And she was right, of course. But as Alice wheeled out my rack of wardrobe choices next, I was reminded once again that standing out meant two very different things for someone like Miko and for someone like me.

Whereas Miko's dresses were jeweled colored, body conscious, and vibrant, the clothes on my rack were…dour. Practical.

Plain.

Something on my face must have registered with Alice. She took a closer look at my choices, rifling through the dresses as Miko kept jabbering on about the elusive bachelor himself.

"Miko, honey. Do you mind if you step outside for a moment while I dress Bella? Not all of us are so comfortable with disrobing publicly."

Miko threw me a wink before leaving, and Alice shut the door.

"Are you okay, Bella?"

Of course, I promised.

We went to work silently, trying funeral dress after funeral dress. She asked me what I thought of them half way through. I gave her a non-committed shrug and told her I'd leave my fate in her professional hands.

She stared at me for a long moment. "Your specifications were limiting, Bella. And I tried to work within the parameters I was given. But if these dresses aren't doing it for you, I would be more than happy to find some other options."

"Specifications?"

I asked her what she was talking about. Alice paged through a notebook quickly, stopping on a page with my name on it.

"Right here. Darker colors preferred. Navy, neutrals and earth browns. Knee length hemlines requested, as well as cap sleeves…"

"Alice, I didn't request any of these things."

Alice seemed confused. "Okay, I thought maybe you were religious or something, so I tried to play it as safe as possible…."

I pointed to myself. "No, not religious. Just a mousey brunette, and I'm sure the powers that be wanted to really sell the mousey part for the party tomorrow."

It seemed to finally dawn on Alice what was going on.

"Oh, no, Bella. I'm sorry, I didn't even realize…." Alice faltered a bit before recovering. "You aren't mousey at all. You're lovel-"

I stopped her before she continued. "No, it's fine. I know they are all big on "narratives" and "types" on shows like these. I'm totally fine being the AJ Mclean in the room come opening night."

"What's an AJ Mclean?" She looked truly confused now.

"You know, from the Backstreet Boys. You have to have an AJ Mclean present to remind people how hot the Nick Carters in the room are."

Alice let out an appalled gasp, then slapped my hand lightly. "What are you talking about? You are no AJ Mclean, and you're not mousey and you don't pale in comparison to these other girls!"

"I don't mind, I swear." And for a moment I truly felt that way. "I'm going to live in a mansion in Malibu for three months and I'll write the great American novel poolside while all these other girls who get rosed endure stupid dates with some cheesedick in a Men's Warehouse suit."

That last sentence got a giggle out of her.

"And all it's going to cost me is one night of having to play the plain girl in the plain dress with a plain life who keeps the punchbowl warm while the bachelor sniffs up better bait. That's all. It's a part I'm well acquainted with since puberty too; if anything, I'm overqualified."

"Oh, Bella, I find that hard to believe."

I just shrugged in response.

"The only difference is I'm going to be awkward in front of a camera for a couple hours. That's all. In front of a national audience. And my parents and friends who thought this was an ass backwards thing to do in the first place. Not to mention Mike Newton, my high school crush who rejected my senior year Sadie Hawkin's Dance invitation via a balloon bouquet, that took me all night to blow up…."

My smile was forced now, and I could have kissed Alice for what she did next. Because she didn't scold me for my spontaneous self-pity party. She didn't try to give me an afterschool special self-esteem speech. She just took my hands in hers and waited until I looked up at her.

"Wow, Bella. When you put it that way, it's not so bad. …..Wait, no, it is bad. Like really, really, depressingly bad."

We cracked up together now.

"I KNOW! I'm going to make an ass out of myself on national television, all because I wanted free rent. I'm pathetic. And now I'm going to make an ass out of myself WHILE wearing a dress that looks like I jacked it off a Holly Hobbe doll. "

Alice tapped her finger on her chin, her eyes plotting. "Look, screw the bachelor right now, and this show. I think all you should worry about is making that Mike Newton guy regret he ever turned down your balloon invitation. Were those balloons manipulated into animal shapes by any chance?"

"No, no animals. But I'd shaped the balloons into roses with stems and leaves. I made a dozen of them. Thus the all-nighter I pulled, instead of studying for a chemistry test I might add."

Alice shook her head slowly, side to side.

"Oh, that's it. Now Mike Newton's gone and done it for rejecting a dozen balloon rose bouquet. He's going down, Bella, and it won't happen in Holly Hobbe attire, I can tell you that much."

She took a full range of measurements, then asked me what I preferred in terms of style.

"Look, this is really sweet of you Alice, but I don't want you to get in trouble for putting me in something you weren't suppossed to. I don't mind the last dress I tried on. It was the least funeraly among them."

Alice rolled her eyes. "Trust me, my daddy got me this job, I'm not going anywhere. I was more of a personal shopper than a stylist before this gig anyways, so this is right up my alley. Come welcoming night, you are going to step out of that limo and not only knock out the bachelor, but bitchslap Mike Newton through the television screen as well. No girl, especially a girl whose nipples pebble, is going down AJ Mclean style on my fashion watch."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

a/n: yes, bellar and Edward are gonna meet and bump egos next chapter. And yes, bumping egos is the new bumping uglies.


	4. with hips only a mother could love

**Prince Hot Ginge and The Most Shocking Rose Ceremony Ever**

**Chapter 3: With Hips Only A Mother Could Love**

a/n:Thanks for the reviews! I appreciate them!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"And her?"

Miko sized up Jenny with a surgeon's eye. And as Jenny corrected me earlier, that's "Je-NAY," stress mark on the latter syllable.

Pretentious twat.

"Oh, this is too easy. Lip fillers, rhinoplasty, slight touch of botox on her forehead, possibly some lipo on her upper arms. And breast implants that are saline filled, which is causing that side boob rippling right now. She's too skinny for saline. Should have used silicone gel instead."

"You are good, Miko. Like Dr. Xavier good."

After a week of intensive Bachelorette media training/charm school that still left me charmless, we finally moved into the Bachelor Whorehouse. I couldn't wait to check out the pool. Would it be an inifinity pool like the one I imagined? Would it overlook the world-famous Malibu beach? Would seagulls fly over head while I sipped from umbrella-topped drinks on a lounge chair?

Chris Harrison, the show's host whose teeth looked like two straight rows of peppermint Tic Tacs, had other plans though. That pool cockblocker ushered us into a welcoming room instead. Collective "Oohs" and "Aahs" rang out in the Moroccan themed room, full of exotic lanterns, rich tapestries, and jewel- toned throw pillows that were strewn across the floor.

"Hey, Chris, is this where the bachelor holds his Wednesday night harem orgies, Hugh Hefner style? And if so, will he polish off the night with some strained tapioca pudding and porn like the original Playboy himself?"

My words were an excuse to make Chris smile and expose those baby teethed Tic Tacs once more. But the only reaction I got was Miko jabbing my rib and reminding me we were filming.

Teacher's pet.

We were now seated in some harem hussy formation on the floor, with Tic Tac Teeth urging us to "get to know eachother" by sharing one unusual thing about ourselves.

Which in reality show talk, as Miko had taught me? Meant skank out your trials and tribulations.

Miko whispered into my ear as we sat down: "Everyone's going to try to out-Shania Twain each other with personal strife tales. Resist the urge. You should never show your hand tragic-backstory-wise unless you need it as a lifeline later on in the season."

I didn't know why she still talked like this, as if I was interested in staying in this bachelorette race for the long haul. My foot was still firmly set on getting kicked off the first rose ceremony – which was going down tonight.

"Lifeline, huh? I think your mixing up reality shows again, Regis Philbin."

Ignoring my comeback, she wielded an index finger for the next bit: 'And whatever you do, don't cry. They always compile all the first week contestant crybabies for a slo-mo reel on E! Channel's "Talk Soup." You do NOT want to make the slow-mo reel!"

I saluted her. "Gotcha. No faux-emo, no slow-mo."

This was our first taped segment, and I tried to remember all the things they taught me in media charm school so I wouldn't look like a complete idiot onscreen: good posture is vital, never acknowledge the camera, speak clearly and pronounce my words well.

But then the waterworks and sad panda stories started right off with the first contestant, who egged on the next contestant to cry even harder. And by the fifth contestant, the angst and tears were blurring together. All the charm school valedictorians listened empathetically, while I? I was more fascinated by the fact that so many of these broads were crying yet couldn't shape their lips into a proper frown.

"B-o-t-o-x," MIko whispered. " Television magnifies the finest of lines. A lot of these girls got injected right before coming here."

Thus the genesis of our new game, "How Much Shit Did She Inject Into Her Face?"

"And what about her?"

I nudged Miko in the direction of the next bombshell blonde to partake in the blubberfest. She stood out amongst the sea of blondeness, her hair more buttery than brash.

Unlike the other girls who had congregated in packs of two or more, she'd remained an army of one, maintaining an air of distant civility with all of us.

"Oh, she's one of those lone-wolf, alpha female types," MIko commented earlier. "She's in it to win it, and she-wolves work better alone."

Whatever.

All I cared about was watching her shrivel under Miko's laser eye of surgical truth. Because this girl wasn't just pretty or sexy – she was an anatomical improbability between her cartoonish hour glass shape and stunner face.

Or not, according to Miko:

"I think she's the only girl besides us who hasn't been nipped and tucked and syringed."

My mouth dropped open.

"That's all natural? "

"Yep. There's a natural slope to her breasts, no pinched nostrils or nose tips. Lips are pouty, but not duck-like. Her face moves naturally. She's just working with what her mama gave her."

If that was the case, her mama could be none other than Jessica Rabbit.

And to add insult to injury, she started off her introduction without a trace of desperation while explaining her desire to adopt one day. Which was swiftly followed by her admission that she helped raise her siblings:

"So when my mother got sick and couldn't work any longer, I had to take on two jobs in high school while watching after my three younger brothers. I took them to school, picked them up, made dinner, and then headed out to my first job…"

She told the story without shedding a tear, her voice didn't falter once.

"And even though I received a full scholarship to Brown, I still worked my way through college to help ends meet at home for my family…"

Sure. Technically we were only supposed to share one thing, and she was on her tenth detail of self-awesomeness. But I would have done the same thing if I had:

Accomplished anything half as impressive in my life as she had

and

Been clever enough to couch it in the fact that I was going to be the second coming of St. Angelina.

Amazing AND shrewdly clever.

When Ms. Rosalie Hale finally took her seat while basking in our deferential silence, Miko turned to me in wide-eyed wonder:

"She's not content with out-Shania-ing everyone in this room. Bitch is trying to out-Shania Twain Shania Twain!"

**XXXX**

Once we were freed from the bachelor's orgy room welcoming social, many made a mad dash for the bedroom assignments.

"Amateurs," Miko sniffed as they all rushed up the stairwell. "Don't they know running to the bedrooms is so Real World 1999?"

We headed for the pool instead – with a quick pitstop in the kitchen.

"Forget about a bedroom. I'm going to set up a tent in the pantry and call this place my new home." The kitchen was bigger than the second story of my childhood home, for crying out loud. It was stocked up and decked out and tricked over with top-of-the-line cookware, state-of-the-art appliances…

And the refrigerator front? Was the size of a car garage door.

Which seemed completely pointless. Because the only things chilling behind those jumbo sized doors were rows upon rows of designer brand bottled water.

And what was the point of a gigantic walk-in pantry when it was only stocked with Cliff Bars?

"Show sponsors no doubt," Miko guessed. " We'll probably be contractually obligated to hold a bar in on hand and a water bottle in the other for the next two months."

I begrundgingly threw a handful of Cliffbars into my purse to scarf down later and we were out of there.

The pool didn't have an Infinity feature, but I wasn't complaining. The spa alone could have accommodated a small village, and the actual pool was worthy of a five star hotel. The whole area was decked out like a resort, complete with cabanas and a view of the beach below.

Our dresses were abandoned and our bodies strewn across lounge chairs in record time.

'Uh….is "whole grain goodness" code for "tastes like shit?" 'Cause these Cliff bar thingys could double as door stops." I tried to chase down the taste with some water.

Miko swatted me with a rolled up tabloid magazine.

"You know, Bella. One day you will have to train your taste buds to move beyond the preferences of an eleven year old boy."

"So I can successfully gnaw on door stops? No thank you."

A pleasant silence settled between us as our bodies took in the warm California sun. I had questioned my game plan up until now, thinking that the price tag of public exposure was too high for a free summer rental. But this? This was well worth the price tag and more. Hell, I'd probably walk around in a dunce cap for the rest of the time if they asked me to, so long as I got to hang out poolside daily.

Which wasn't such an outlandish request, given the stunt I'd just pulled earlier.

I heard Miko laughing quietly to the side of me.

"Shut up."

I knew exactly what she was laughing about.

"Really, Bella. I know you're all about ensuring your first ceremony demise and all, but did you have to take such extreme measures in there with your introduction?"

"Oh, please, the perfect opportunity presented itself to me, and I went for it."

And that opportunity was Rosalie Hale.

xx

After Rosalie's heartwrenching introduction, no one wanted to have to be her follow up act, knowing whatever they had in their sad-panda arsenal wouldn't compare. The room remained silent as hopeful eyes darted around for someone to step up to the plate so they wouldn't have to. I was one of the darting eyes as well, until I caught Rosalie staring at me with the slightest of knowing smiles. Nothing too challenging really, but it rubbed me the wrong way.

It suddenly occurred to me that while Rosalie just made everyone else in that room her bitch, there was no reason I had to fall in line too. I wasn't in it to win it like the rest of them. In fact, I was in it to lose it.

And what better way to lose than taking on Ms. Hale's silent challenge? What if I met her Shania Twain and raised her a Paz De La Huerta, just to mess with everyone?

I stood up without a second thought, and enjoyed witnessing that smirk on Ms. Hale's face get wiped clean.

"Um, you all know I'm Bella. But ONE thing you don't know about me is that I have an extra set of auxiliary nipples." I pulled up my shirt, exposing two light brown spots that could pass for freckles several inches north of my belly button.

Miko looked at me like I'd just passed gas. Her head shook slightly, letting me know I needed to backpedal from this particular introductory route. But the cat(nip) was out already out of the bag.

"I mean, it made it a bit weird growing up. To wear a bikini in summer and all. Cause people would be like…hey, what's that? Are those birthmarks? And I'd be like, oh, they're my spare set of nipples just in case I lose my other pair."

Miko's head shook more insistently, her finger cutting quickly along her neck.

_Yes, Miko. That's the idea. I'm trying to get fired, remember?_

"But as my best friend Jacob at home always reassured me, a woman can never have enough nipples on her. Am I right ladies?"

xxx

Miko's giggles were louder now as she stood up from the lounge chair. I followed suit, ready to dip my toes into the refreshing water just feet away.

"You know, Bella. I get your exit strategy. But you need to be careful in your EXECUTION of that strategy. Because people who get kicked off early are usually the boring ones who don't distinguish themselves enough. You talking about extra sets of nipples in the face of others crying over dead pets and lost childhoods? Is distinguishing yourself. "

She had a point. But just because I'm a stubborn bugger, I rolled my eyes as if I was unconvinced.

"Think about it, Bella. Even if it was for all the wrong reasons, you somehow managed to overshadow even Rosalie Hale today; which by the way, she didn't appreciate."

I couldn't help but snort in laughter. She'd been giving me stink eye ever since circle time.

"For better or worse, you're making an impression, Ms. Swan. And if you bring the crazy TOO well, they'll end keeping you around longer for entertainment's sake."

"Oh my god, Miko - like I'd become this season's Gary Busey?"

Miko nodded sagely. "Yes, just with better teeth."

We were both laughing now, as we raced towards the pool's edge. And despite being likened to Gary Busey from a girl who previously likened me to A.J. Mclean, I felt a bit proud of myself.

Because instead of changing a bed pan right now with CNN droning on in the background, I was in a bikini. The same very tiny, uncharacteristically audacious bikini that I bought for no good reason at full price years ago for no reason….other than the vague hope I'd give myself an occasion to finally wear it.

Xxxxx

The halter rested gently against my neck as I smoothed the material down over my body.

The touch of silk against my bare skin for the first time? Indescribable, in all the best ways.

"Good god, Bella." Miko was almost speechless, and for the first time it wasn't because I was doing something mortifying. "You look amazing in that dress. Your boobs in particular. Like they're almost slapping your chin right now, they're so perky."

"I know right?" Alice was all smugness for finding me a dress that fit like a pornographic glove within hours of me needing it. 'I call it the "Pebble Dress."'

For obvious reasons. With nothing but a g-string on under this flimsy silk handkerchief that Alice mistook for a dress, my highbeams were pebbling at full throttle right now.

"Well, for this kind of getup," I reasoned, "it would be more helpful if I bouldered instead of pebbled."

The dress was a bit adventurous for my tastes, but it did fit my shape nicely.

My bustline could have used a couple hundred cc's of lip lard from JenNAY's lips though.

"Oh shut up, Bella. You have great tits. It's not all about size. Yours have a great shape and your nipple placement is superb for maximum perkiness."

Having Miko's laser eye beam of bodily truth directed at other people was entertaining. Having it directed at me was slightly disturbing. Not to mention the fact her hands were mere inches away from said pebbles, looking like they wanted to squeeze my Charmins.

"Whoa, Whoa….calm down, Lady." I took a step backwards. "You haven't even bought me dinner yet and you're already trying to steal second base."

"Hey, I'm just saying, you look niptacular."

"Titastic, even," Alice added. "And if you just let me do one more thing, my masterpiece will be complete."

XX

That one more thing didn't seem like a big deal initially.

"They're Minx Eyelash Extensions to take those doe eyes to the next level on the television screen. That Mike Newton guy will be shown no mercy tonight at this welcoming rose ceremony taping."

Alice knew how to nudge me in the direction she wanted me to go.

But then she started lining my lid with adhesive, and the first eyelash extension felt like she'd taped a rabid moth to my eye.

I started tearing, blinking up a storm, and panicking.

"Calm down, Bella. If you keep tearing, it's going to mess up your makeup and ruin the extension application."

"But they're so heavy and uncomfortable." I started waving my hands around my eye, as if that would soothe the irritation. The thought of applying another tarantula seemed unbearable.

Miko whispered something to Alice then stood me up.

"Come on, Swan. Take my hand and if you stop messing with your eyes, I'm going to reward you with something greasy."

All I'd been offered today as a bachelorette were salads, and some chicken and fruit. And edible door stops. Stuff that seemed more appropriate for a pet hamster than a strapping young lass like myself.

"Greasy? Really?" I tried to still my hands and stop from blinking.

"Shhhhh." Miko leaned in closer. "I found the catering truck for the crew members next to the pool area. With man food, just like you like it, Bella. If you let Alice finish the eyelash application, and promise not to fiddle with them until they dry, I'll throw a big plate of BBQ chicken wings in front of you to keep you company."

Xxx

Miko kept her word, so I kept mine. No matter how much I wanted to rip the furry spider lashes off my lids, I left them alone. Alice told me to keep my eyes closed for fifteen minutes , and that was fine by me.

Cause you don't need your eyesight to wash down BBQ, baked beans, and potato salad. I chomped down in silence, sitting alone at a picnic table. The silence wouldn't last long though. We'd be taping very soon.

Heavy shoe steps approached, but I didn't bother to turn around in their direction.

"Oh…"

I stopped eating for a moment, waiting for the person to speak again.

Nothing.

"I'm almost finished here," I called out. He didn't answer.

I hated awkward silences, they always forced me to fill them up with equally awkward words.

"Don't mind me. I'm just eating while some shit dries on my eyes for the show tonight."

A low chuckle, but still no words. Probably a crew member in search of some fracking fantastic BBQ.

"I think I got the last of the wings, but…" I lifted my plate up in the direction of his voice. " I've got a plate full still if you'd like some. I'd pick one out for you, but I can't open my eyes for another couple minutes."

I could feel him lean in, as if he was looking over the selection.

"Oh, I was just looking for someone. But that IS a huge plate of wings there. Is this how much you eat normally, or are you just a nervous eater?"

Nice voice. It had a smooth jazz quality to it – minus the douchey saxophone.

"Oh yeah, I'm totally nervous about tonight. I don't even like my picture taken, and look what I've gotten myself into. But even if I wasn't nervous, I'd be eating like this. I mean…it's free. And I have the appetite of an NFL linebacker."

I bit into another wing as he laughed a little louder: "Impressive."

"You think? My appetite disgusts my roommate. She swears that I don't fall asleep at night so much as I slip into a carb-induced coma."

He leaned in closer, a sign he might actually want to take me up on the offer.

"The teriyaki wings are bland, not enough ginger. But the BBQ Chipotle ones are to die for." I tapped around my plate until I found an unmangled wing and lifted it up.

"Come on, take a bite."

He paused for a beat, and I could have sworn I felt him smile. "I wish I could, but no thanks. It would go straight to my thighs."

"Ha! Good one," I laughed, nodding my head in comic approval.

"No, really. My sister says I have mothering hips and thighs. I could just look at your potato salad and my pant legs would tighten instantly."

Heh. That sounded incredibly dirty.

"Shut up, really? You have baby making hips? " I put my plate down and motioned him closer with my hands. " Come here, let me see. Or…feel, or whatever."

There was a pause before he answered: "What?"

"I'm just gonna pat your hips down. I need a mental visual of this."

More silence.

"Um, that's okay. I think I'll pass."

"I'm not being a perv. " A wave of defensiveness washed through me. "I'm not going to try to feel up your junk or anything, geesh-"

"Oh…yeah, I know." He sounded more conciliatory now. "It's just…there's no way to say this nicely. But I'm in a suit right now. And your hands are filthy with sauce."

I ran that last line through my head a couple times. Visions of Cormia and Phury, filthy with bodily emissions, sprang to mind.

"Hands filthy with sauce. God, that's got a great ring to it. It's like a double…no, like a triple entendre. You a writer by any chance?"

"No….no, I'm afraid not." He sounded amused by guess.

"Well, that was effing poetic. Unlike my last sentence. Or ten."

I quietly dipped my hands in a glass of water, then dried them off with napkins. "Okay, problem solved. Hands are clean. Will you let me try now?"

"You're kidding, right?" His voice sounded unsure.

"I'm dead serious. You just said you have woman hips, but your voice is heavy on the bass. Right now I'm picturing you like a bearded lady at the circus. It's not everyday I get to pat down a bearded lady."

"Well, I did have a beard my freshman year in college," he offered.

"Excellent! And I had a mustache until I was in seventh grade and was finally allowed to shave. Now that we've bonded, there's no reason for you to feel shy. I'll respect your hips in the morning, promise."

He inched forward in front of me, still unsure. "I don't really understand what you're trying to—"

I shut him up as I patted down his waist area. Very lean and hard.

"Not an inch to pinch so far, big guy. Lean little waist, betcha do a lot of cardio." My hands moved towards his hips, but then my index fingers got wind of some washboard abs.

Lots of them.

"What the hell? You're sporting like a baker's dozen abs right here. You aren't a bearded lady at the circus, you're a side show circus freak." I felt more of them to the side, and he jerked away slightly.

Ticklish.

"There's like two spare abs right here just hanging out by your kidneys for future use. "

That got a laugh out of him, and then he topped it with a revelation: "Yeah, sorta like your spare set of nipples."

Oh, the smug air in his voice.

My hands froze. "You saw that?"

"Yes," he said, "Yes, I did. Along with about two dozen other people at the time, I should add."

"Did it fall as flat with you guys as it did with the bachelorettes? Because it was dead air in there every time I pulled up a punchline. "

"Yeah, they were a tough crowd," he conceded. "But no, we were all laughing."

I shook my head, suddenly very aware I was patting down some strange man for no apparent reason other than boredom and mild curiosity.

"Well, at least someone got a kick out of me acting like an idiot."

"You weren't acting like an idiot," he offered." In fact, the word I would have used to describe you in that moment would be—"

"Awkward," I chimed in, trying to beat him to the punch.

"Defiant," he asserted right afterward.

"Defiant of what?" I was curious as to what he had picked up on.

"Just…."he said before pausing." All the girls were going in one direction, sharing so much. And you took it in the other direction, sharing nothing. Then there was that stare-off with the girl before you…"

"Wait, what? You saw that?"

"Everyone saw that, are you kidding? The editors were salivating over which music track to use during the stare-off. I think they settled on some "High Noon" spaghetti western stuff…"

I thought back to Miko's warning about trying to not distinguish myself too much. Nice try there, I already challenged the alpha-female of the pack.

"It wasn't really a stare-off," I conceded. "And I just thought there needed to be some comic relief after all the Debbie Downer stuff. And nipples and comic relief? Go hand in hand like bread and butter."

"I wholeheartedly agree." He sounded like he was trying not to laugh now. "In fact, I'd take it one step farther. Nipples don't just go with comic relief, they go great with everything."

"Like ketchup," I added.

"Yes! Nipples are the new ketchup." He paused for a moment. "Speaking of which, nice dress."

Was Mr. Lady Hips actually flirting with me and my fruity pebbles?

"It's very perky. Or pretty. Your dress."

Definitely flirting.

"My dress is perky? Or my ketchup is?"

And _that_ was my lame attempt at flirting back.

Ugh. I really was an idiot.

"Wait, what's your name again?" I suddenly tried to get back to the easy rapport we had when he was just a hippy bearded lady in my mind.

"I was wondering when you would finally ask."

And still he didn't offer it up. I got back to business, and patted down his hips without any suggestive detours this time. His hips did protrude out significantly from his waist for a guy. More so than most men with inverted triangular shapes. But they were as lean as can be and free of any circus side show qualities.

I backed up significantly and cut off contact. He seemed to notice my change in demeanor.

"So what's the verdict, " he asked while backing up a step himself. His voice was more polite now.

"On your hips? Well, you don't have an ounce of fat on them. And sure, they've got some mother in them. But I'll tell you what, big guy. I'd be proud to have you carry my baby."

He let out a genuine whoop of laughter, and that made me smile. What's more, it only encouraged me.

"No seriously. When I need a surrogate to carry my unborn since my hips still think I'm a twelve year old boy, you'll be the first person I call. Then you can eat all sloppy finally and let your hips go and no one will judge you for it."

More laughter. "I'll keep that in mind."

There was a lull in our conversation, and I could tell he was trying to make a polite exit. I wanted to ask him his name, and I wanted him to sit down a little longer and talk. Because frankly, it was nice to converse about something other than reality show strategies or how I'm a little too similar to Gary Busey. And maybe I was feeling a little homesick, or maybe I was feeling a little flattered that our banter took a detour into flirtation for a brief moment. But I didn't want him to leave just yet.

"You gotta go, huh," I asked.

"Yeah, I'm on the clock right now."

Another pause.

"So I'm off, but it was….interesting talking to you." He seemed to be walking backwards now.

"Same here, " I agreed. " If you think up any more potentially filthy triple entendres I could use, let me know, okay?"

He stopped walking . "Whenever you say triple entendre, it always reminds me of a triple axel in ice skating."

"That's just your womanly hips talking," I shot back.

"I should have never told you about my hips."

"I'm glad you did. If it makes you feel any better my breasts have been mistaken for pectorals before."

"Lovely parting image there , Bella."

He said my name. He said Bella.

"Keep it close to your heart the way I'll keep your hips close to my womb."

"You're relentless. " The amused voice again. I think I liked the amused voice even more than the flirtatious one. "Have a good evening, Bella. "

"Aren't you going to tell me your name?"

His voice getting more distant with his each word.

"Who needs a name when you have my calling card? Keep an eye out for a bearded lady with mothering hips using triple entendres on set."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

a/n: I stole the "mothering hips" phrase from laineygossip when she describes Robert.

a/n: Charmins: There were these toilet paper commercials that had a catchphrase of "Please don't squeeze the Charmin!" But the moms squeezing the Charmin in the grocery stores always did it pornographically. If you want to witness their deviance, go to "youtube" then search "Charmin Commercial Mr. Whipple." ETA: this one's the perviest of all, good lord, mr. whipple gets in on the action: search: "Mr Whipple Charman."


	5. Those Dark Brown Chocolate Orbs of Hers

**Prince Hot Ginge and the Most Shocking Rose Ceremony Ever!**

**Chapter 5: Those Dark-Brown Chocolate Orbs of Hers**

a/n: Thanks for all the reviews, I will be sending thank you responses to you all this week from all the chapters when I get a chance. You're all peaches.

a/n: I wrote something very long in the last couple weeks, about 2-3 chapters worth. I'm not sure how to cut it up chapter wise now though. So, let's start with this here, and I'll update the second part to this section this weekend.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**Eduardo:**

With each step I took away from her, the more my mind cleared.

_Alice. She'd set this all up – she was the one who told me to go to craftservices._

My head turned to the right where the pool area sat. It was dark out; but to the naked eye at least, the coast seemed clear.

_Shit._

I looked to my left. The landscaped hillside seemed to be deserted .

_Shit, shit, shit._

I looked behind me, and in front. Not a single soul witnessed my breaching of the strict rules of contestant contact. Fraternizing with a bachelorette before the show had even begun was definitely a no-no.

Nothing happened between us, I reminded myself.

_Liar._

No one saw that "nothing" happen anyways.

_Because it's not like the whole property is crawling with 24/7 surveillance cameras for the general public or anything, Jack Ass._

Last season's "The Bachelor" had sagged in ratings, so they were trying to mix up the show's protocol this time around. One change was to keep all twenty bachelorettes in the house the whole season, regardless if they'd been kicked off or not.

"Too many squabbling cooks in the kitchen may ruin the broth, " resident producer and all-around creepster Aro Volture had told me. "But it makes for must see-television."

And as Aro had corrected me earlier, that's "Vol-TURE," stress mark on the latter syllable.

Pretentious twat. Vol-CHURE was more like it.

The second programming change was stolen from that Big Brother show, where various surveillance cameras were installed throughout the property so that the viewing public could "check in" on the bachelorettes anytime online.

"Free online access to too many squabbling cooks in the kitchen in various states of undress? Ratings platinum," Aro promised.

The big question now was if any of those cameras happened to be pointed in the direction of craft services – and one tiny girl in an even tinier blue dress, her hands filthy with sauce.

Filthy with sauce.

That really did have a nice ring to it. Or maybe it was the memory that accompanied the phrase, with Bella licking off the sauce in ways that gave "filthy" a new layer of meaning.

Ratings platinum were the key words for me, the very reason I was participating. The bigger the audience I reached, the better for all of us.

"Your face put us on the map in the beginning, and that same face will get us back on track once again," my father declared as if I were a sacrificial virgin that needed coaxing into the volcano.

Volcano gods had nothing on plotting reality show producers though.

No one ever asked me if I wanted my carb-bloated third grade school picture to be the figurehead of our bakery empire all those years ago. But this time around, I was given a choice.

My parents had spent years building up a brand name that was successful yet charitable. Emmett's "Cheaters'" guest spot and subsequent firing from "The Bachelor" had been a rare public relations misstep for our wholesome family brand name. It also resurrected Alice's brief pregnant-and-topless moment in the sun as a "Girls Gone Wild" flasher. Within what seemed like minutes, our family went from being associated with photogenic do-gooding to being the heir apparents to those insufferable Hiltons.

The media had the power to flip our familial reputation upside down at a moment's notice. We needed them to flip it right side up just as fast.

ABC was hardly happy about their association with a fallen-bachelor candidate themselves. With a little negotiating and hard assed pushing on both sides of the pr debacle, my family and the network came up with a plan.

Enter my spotless personal record. No reality show ambushes, not so much as a parking ticket in my twenty-eight years. The long term relationship sibling in contrast to Emmett's more messy serial dating. Stanford educated, Cullen Corp.-trained.

I was the picture of economy and dependability in comparison to my bigger-than-life brother.

Think of me as the Toyota Prius Hybrid to Emmett's Hummer1.

What's more, I had my own professional brainchild about to debut. Something I had personally conceived and saw through to its realization: a new line of baked goods for our coffeehouses that were vegan, gluten-free, and mostly-nonfat.

This was the wave of the culinary future, I declared to my parents, who were still attached to their egg yolks and butter and cream.

Like most of America.

Clean-baked goods were a tough sell, our research indicated. Gluten-free foods conjured up images of edible doorstops for the general public.

But with a platform like "The Bachelor?" Where we were able to secure on-air promotion for our new line as an official bachelorette mansion snack staple? Not to mention a promised ten minute segment where one bachelor date included me personally baking up said gluten-free muffins and cookies for several bachelorettes?

I would be an idiot to pass up the opportunity, even if it meant being subjected to tabloid fodder as a result.

But I had a plan in place: keep my head above the reality cesspool, sell my naturally charming and scandal-free self, and the family brand name by extension. And finally, promote the product line I'd put my professional neck on the line for.

It was a plan I could easily follow - as long as I reined in a particular busybody from meddling. A sibling sort of someone who thought I could mix business with pleasure if the opportunity presented itself .

Unfortunately with Alice, she often forced opportunity's hand.

I walked into the mansion's guesthouse, which had been converted into the Cullen family "warroom" until the show got off without a hitch, intent on confronting her.

"Alice, a word plea-se…."

I was greeted with the entire room staring back at me.

"Question for you bro." Emmett couldn't contain the gloating in his smile. His stare shifted from my eyes down southward.

"Whoa, make that two questions. Why's there a barbeque stain on your crotch?"

Damn it.

I reached for a nearby napkin and began to dot at the two red spots settled on the fork of my pants.

"I was just having a snack."

Muffled laughter rang out.

"Oh, is that what you kids call it nowadays? Snacking?" Emmett turned around to our father and gave him a knowing look. "It looks like you _were_ the snack. Someone thought you'd be too bland, and sprinkled a little Tabasco sauce on your netherparts to spice you up."

"What the hell are you talking about, Emmett?" I looked over at Alice. She nodded in the direction of the congregation.

"I'm talking about this, Edward: could that sauce stain have anything to do with this video right here?"

Only then did I notice that everyone was hovering around the gave me a sly wink before pressing a remote control. And low and behold, blown up on screen, was a video recording of the the events that transpired briefly between me and an odd girl who had an aversion for bras and a hands-on approach to introductions. Emmett froze the video right as Bella was caressing my hips and my head fell back slightly.

"Um, that's not what it looks like."

Without the sound, and from that particular angle with my back facing the camera, it didn't look good at all.

"Oh, Edward, give yourself more credit. With all your orb stalking today, it looks exactly what I would expect between you and Ms. Swan."

**xxxx**

The afternoon started out innocent enough. Alice and Mother had their laptops ready, all set to write up a mini-profile on each bachelorette as they congregated in the main mansion for the first time.

"Damnit, Edward, they're mine! Every single one of them. Hand-picked for me, not you. "

"More like groin-picked," Alice whispered to me with a wink.

Emmett watched intently as the parade of bachelorettes were brought into the meet-and-greet. And he was right; a common theme of Xtreme blonde curves stood out, as if an episode of Baywatch had just thrown up all over the mansion.

The producers let me and my family watch the taping via live feed. They were trying to quell the fears of my parents ever since they unceremoniously dumped Emmett. That included all video feeds and filming that would reflect on me in any way.

Most of the faces were unfamiliar, with the exception of the three contestants Alice had already shown me. My earlier impressions of them was now magnified against the other contestants. Rosalie looked more beautiful. Miko looked more exotic and vivacious. Bella looked more fresh-faced.

"That's right, honeys, tell Uncle Emmett all about yourselves," Emmett cajoled as the introductions began.

"Uncle?"I repeated incredulously. 'Forget the Bachelor, your true calling was to guest star on Dateline's "To Catch A Predator series."'

"Exactly! "Alice channeled her best Chris Hanson voice. " By day he was a successful businessman. But by night online, he was known as " Uncle Hair E. Balls."'

This was how it worked in our family: Emmett would be Emmett, and Alice and I would mock him for it.

"Whatever, pregnant lady flasher. I'm just trying to entertain myself while they do the boring introductions. If they truly wanted to up their ratings, they should have had each girl go into a confession booth and give up a sin or three. In Catholic school girl uniforms."

Emmett hadn't been too far off with his programming instincts.

Because apparently, "sharing one detail about yourself" was code for "tell us the most tragic event in your life, with lots of tears and wailing."

One after the other, each woman stood up and began a tale of woe that seemed to come straight out of a Thomas Hardy novel. After several contestants, I side-eyed my sister and mom's contestant notes. Mom tried to be positive, noting one contestant's nice smile, another's pleasant speaking voice.

Alice's entries were more concise:

_Jenny – dead cat_

_Tara – dead grandma_

_Janice – dead pinky tip – smashed it in a car door as a kid._

"Didn't they do any psychological testing on these contestants? They're all emotional basket cases. Maybe it's a good thing you took over after all, Edward. You can deal with all these touchy-"

Emmett stopped mid-sentence when the next woman stood up. She was all business, in a trousers and a blazer, yet somehow it fit like lingerie on her.

"Oh, holy mother of god…..who is she?"

"Rosalie Hale," Alice answered.

When she made it through the first minute without crying, Emmett looked like it was his turn to be moved by tears himself.

"Momma, can I keep her? She's house trained already; look, no tears!"

But then she mentioned a desire to adopt.

"Well…adoption is okay," Em pondered thoughtfully. " But only one child for us, none of this Brangelina shit where you adopt a new kid every full moon. "

Add on the assertion that she wanted a big family one day after single handedly raising her own brothers, and the devastation was complete for Em.

"Bone killer. Total bone killer, she's dead to me now. These women are are so depressing. They'll have to diffuse vapor Zoloft through the air ducts at night to pick up the mood around here."

He looked at me, his face almost sympathetic now. "Or better yet, ground the Zoloft into your Metamucil and twig muffins. It will up their fiber count!"

He rattled on some more, but I wasn't listening. A new development was unfolding onscreen.

Rosalie had done the best introduction so far. She maintained her composure while communicating that she was two steps away from sainthood. But her bald calculation left me unimpressed.

Her story humbled her peers though – they all deferred to her with lowered heads and revered silence.

That was, with the exception of one Bella Swan. She kept her head level, stared right back at Rosalie, not wavering in the least. A sly smile formed on her lips next.

"Well, lookie here," Emmett said. "Someone fill up the boxing ring with jello, we've got a catfight brewing."

"Not a catfight," I corrected. "That's a pissing match."

Emmett shook his head after a long pause. "Naw, I think I prefer the jello visual more."

Bella bounced up to a standing position, her brown locks moving in slower motion around her. An impulse coursed through me, some vague desire to have Bella not follow in the footsteps before her. I didn't want her to pull a dead pet out of her hat, or even a Rosalie.

_"But one thing you don't know about me is that I have an extra set of auxiliary nipples."_

And just like that, Bella granted my wish.

"What the…"

Emmett looked at me in shock as Ms. Swan hiked up her shirt, revealing two small brown spots that looked like freckles.

"She found a way to show boobs on prime time network television! Someone call Aro – he needs to amp up the air conditioning in there to see if they tighten like real nipples!"

Alice and I were laughing now, at Emmett, at Bella for turning the sobfest into a stupid human tricks segment – with a mischievous smile on her face throughout.

I took a peek at Mom's laptop:

_Bella: I think we just found the firecracker of the group. And yes, Edward, I see you peeking._

**_Xxx_**

The rest of the afternoon went by quickly. I had a million things to do for the night's welcoming rose ceremony. But time and again, I found myself gravitating back towards the monitor as Emmett gave us constant "Where's Bella?" updates.

"Look! She's running in the opposite direction of the rest of the girls, heading for the kitchen."

…

"Look! She's stealing a shitload of candy bars and putting them in her purse, the little multi-tasking, multi-nippled klepto."

…

"Look! While the rest of the girls are fighting over bedroom buddies, Bella's making a break for the pool!"

…

"Look! She's taking off her dress, and…hey, get off my chair, Edward! This isn't a love seat."

"Your big melon head's taking up the whole screen, Em. I'm not going anywhere."

A weird silence took over as we waited like idiots for the big reveal: Bella's humble sundress hid quite a view until she flung it off. A very small, very stringy sort of white bikini graced her tiny little frame.

She was so cute with her great hair and diminutive shape, like an antidote to all the cleavage and sun-in and orange tans inside. I just wanted to scoop her up, throw a towel over her, and help her escape the mansion of wailing women and creepster producers who were plotting horrible, must-see-tv things for us both.

"God, you guys are disgusting, this isn't a peep show," Alice said while standing in front of the screen.

"But she has four nipples, Alice! I thought that only happened in the mutant superhero comic books of my youth!"

Alice faced Emmett, explaining in vain yet again what the concept of ethics were. Which was perfect, because she leaned into him and gave me an unhindered view of Bella again.

Bella doubling over in laughter with Miko. Bella stretching like a cat on her lounge chair while soaking up the sun. Bella cannonballing into the pool, then flopping around like a spastic penguin. Bella coming out of the pool and…...my head leaned in closer to confirm that what I was seeing was real.

"Boobs! Not the sideshow set either," Emmett declared.

Well, not in the flesh exactly. But that thin white material, when wet, was transparent. And there, almost taunting me through wet translucence…

…were the most lovely, dark-brown chocolate orbs I'd ever laid eyes on.

"Why are you lecturing me, Ali, when Edward is the one who is totally areola stalking!"

I flipped Emmett off, but my eyes stayed glued on the monitor.

Bella was too perfect in that moment, giggling as she slipped clumsily back onto her lounge chair, to look away.

**xxxxx**

" For the last time, it was completely innocent. " My dumbed-down briefing of what transpired between Ms. Swan and myself was sufficient enough –give or take a few hip and nipple jokes. Boy met girl, girl met boy, girl couldn't see, girl told a couple jokes, and that was the end of it.

"So, let me get this straight, Edward." Emmett was in his glory at that moment, tapping his finger against his chin cloyingly. "You were looking for Alice. And then by SHEER coincidence, you came upon THE Nips Mcgillicuddy."

After this afternoon's monitoring events, Bella was already a warroom legend of sorts. Legendary enough at least for Em to Christian her a new nickname.

"Bella, you mean," I corrected. "Don't be crude."

"Says the boy with Kansas City Sweet Sauce all over his stranger-danger parts."

I was about to volley an insult right back in his direction, but he cut me off.

"Anyways," Emmett continued, "You just happened upon Bella Mcgillicuddy. And she's playing some closed-eyed hide and seek game with you—"

"—No. Nips-"

"HA!" Emmett threw a victory fist pump into the air with my name slip.

'I mean, BELLA said the stylist threw some _quote-unquote_ "shit" on her eyes and she had to keep them closed for ten minutes while it dried.'

Emmett stared at Alice. "You're getting a weekly salary for throwing shit in people's eyes and blinding them? "

Alice flipped him off. "That _shit_, all have you know, is REAL minx fibers. Everyone else I eyelashed only got synthetic fibers you could buy at the local drugstore. Now THAT'S what I call shit."

Emmett shook his head, knowing better than to go down any fashion road of inquiry with Alice. It was like speaking to an alien.

"Fine, so Nips Mcgillicuddy got blinded by a shit-throwing Alice. Which doesn't doesn't explain why she just started patting you down policewoman-style, trying to see if you're packing any heat…"

"She was nowhere near my _heat_."

"Her sweet sauce was DEFINITELY near your _heat_."

Bastard.

" She was just patting down my hips."

He asked me why. I faltered. He smiled.

"It's complicated. But totally innocent."

Emmett pointed to my pants. "You and your guilty trousers sit on a throne of lies. The same throne Nips wants to give you a lap dance on tonight, if this video is any indication. That is, if Alice doesn't burn her with waxing strips first and sends her to the ER."

"Oh, Emmett, dial down your Matlock." Alice stepped forward. " I should just mention that I DID tell Edward to go to craftservices to meet me. And yes, I did so knowing full well the only person over there was Bella."

"I knew it," I interrupted. "This is all your fault, you know, playing your little matchmaking games."

Alice raised her perfectly arched eyebrow at me.

"Hey, all I did was give you two a chance to meet under less aritificial circumstances. It's not my fault you started playing grab-ass with her in under two minutes flat!"

"We weren't playing grab-ass for crissakes…"

"Then what game were you playing, Edward?" My mother's voice came from the back of the room. "Because you two were definitely being playful. And if the producers didn't know you better like we do, and they don't, they could come up with some very different conclusions with that tape."

"BLOW JOB," Emmett mouthed, his hands cupping the sides of his mouth conspiratorially. Unfortunately, even when Emmett mouthed things, his voice carried the words in a loud whisper as well.

I blamed the paint chips that he ate as a kid.

**Xxxx**

a/n: yeah, cutoffs are tricky, but I'll have the second part up this weekend. :)


	6. Hair Braiding Pillow Fighters

**Prince Hot Ginge and the Most Shocking Rose Ceremony Ever**

**Chapter Six: Hair Braiding Pillow Fighters**

a/n: Thanks for the reviews! Sorry it took longer than the weekend- I ended up being hijacked by the SO for two road trips that included Vegas, St. George, Utah, then San Francisco and Monterey, Ca. Ugh, I never want to be in a car again!

**Xxxxx**

_When we last left the story, Edward was confronted with a video that looked very incriminating with a certain Ms. Swan, and it was his turn to explain what was actually going on there._

**Eduardo: **

I quickly gave up the unplugged version of our meeting, given the alternative theory that was floating around.

"Nothing sexual happened. At all. It was completely innocent, regardless of what it looked like on the video."

I told them how she blindly offered me some BBQ.

"I could have been the sixty-year- old cameraman for all she knew, and yet she still greeted me and offered up hot wings. "

I explained how I declined on behalf of my mothering hips.

"That's how you introduced yourself?" Emmett looked at me in disbelief. "Hi, I'm Edward, does my ass look fat in these pants?"

Alice gave me a once-over : "Your ass and hips look fine by the way. I dress you in pleat-less slacks for a reason."

I told them how Bella wanted to see if my hips were as maternal as I asserted, and how the shit-in-her-eye situation made touching the only way to "see."

"What an amateur," Emmett snorted. 'The last time I used the "let-my-fingers-do-the-talking" tactic to steal a base was eighth grade tops. Although YOU actually fell for it.'

He looked over at our parents: "You're lucky your son didn't end up on a milk carton. He's still accepting candy and ass grabs from strangers and he's almost thirty."

"Emmett, I hear open mic night at the Comedy House is on Wednesday," our dad countered. " Why don't we save the stand-up routine for then."

"Still hiding behind papa's apron strings, 'Ward," Emmett whispered back.

I hated that nickname. Over the years, we Cullen siblings had concentrated our names down to one-syllable offshoots. Alice became Al; Emmett, Em. But somehow, the logical choice of "Ed" never caught on, what with Emmett campaigning so hard for the alternative.

Continuing on, I left out my nipple teasing toward Bella that in light of my earlier monitor stalking, made me look like a pervert. But I did tell them of her hippy approval of me.

"She told me that she'd be proud if I carried her baby," I mentioned with a satisfied grin. Because embedded within those words were the true nature of our exchange. Harmless, playful – even a hint of affection if you looked closely enough.

Not-too-shabby rapport building for a five minute conversation.

Alice smiled while mouthing an "awww," her hands clasping together.

Emmett just looked disturbed..

"Oh, this is worse than him getting a blow job. See that? Right there on Alice's face? THAT'S exactly why Edward's gonna get eaten up alive on this show."

My mother asked him what he meant. I wanted to remind her that paint chip eating needed to be factored into his response.

"Look what 'Ward did there. He had the naughtiest of the bachelorettes kneading him up like playdoh-"

"She's not naughty," I interrupted. "Bella's just young. And a little sheltered. "

I paused for moment, unsatisfied with that description. "Guileless is probably more like it, but in the best sense of the word-"

"Oh, keep it in your pants already, your mother's ten feet away," Emmett interrupted. "Just answer the question. After she felt you up, what did you do?"

"We shared a few jokes. End of story. "

Emmett's face lit up.

"Wrong, bro! Pardon my French, Mom. In fact, cover your lady-like ears. I'd tell you to do the same thing Al, but we all know your mouth is filthier than the pool drain right outside-"

Alice flipped him off while Emmett pretended to catch it like it was an air-blown kiss and put it in his pocket.

'Look, contrary to how they sell the show, "The Bachelor" is about a stable of Fillies who want to bed the resident Stallion. It's about alpha males and sex . The bachelorettes and the audience aren't looking for a nice guy who can bake. That's what the Food Network and that Ginger dude is for—'

" Bobby Flay doesn't bake, he grills," I corrected.

Emmett burst out laughing.

"With Ginger Justice League comments like that, you're only making my case for me. " He rubbed his eyes with his palms before starting again. "The Bachelor doesn't bake. He isn't THAT guy. He's the guy is who's willing to take several girls out at the same time, allow them to fight over him, lead them all on at once, kiss several of them throughout the date, and maybe even take it farther with one of them at the end of the night. He's a sanctioned whore because he gives out roses at the end of the night."

Alice started laughing. "That's not true. You're being an idiot, Emmett."

Em nodded gamely. "I am an idiot-"

I smiled at Alice: "It's the paint chips. Those paint chips he peeled off and ate from our bathroom wall when we were little did a number on him."

"And yet," Emmett interjected," even with my mental impairments, I can STILL figure out the score here better than the both of you. You want to play Betty Crocker in the kitchen with the ladies, baking them low fat treats while you drone on about your phantom fat ass and expose your Body Dysmorphic Disorder to all of America. And you are going to get ripped apart for it."

My mother shook her head dismissively. "What do any of your theories have to do with Edward and what happened earlier? "

"Because his run-in with Bella right now just proved my point! Nips McG went from feeling him up to replacing his penis with a womb and renaming him Mr. Mom . That's NOT a compliment, no matter how much Alice sighs over it."

Alice stopped laughing now, as if his logic actually made sense.

"Look. While Edward was off playing with his Easy Bake Oven inventing pet rock brownies, I watched past Bachelors and Bachelorette seasons for this gig. Which I know for a fact he hasn't bothered to watch one episode."

It was true. I'd gone into the process staying away from all past seasons. I didn't understand the need, my motivations for being here were different.

"But there's two kinds of guys on this show. There's the guys who are nice and decent, don't lead on the women, are sensitive, and yes…they may even bake. This group gets used and emasculated and are always the losers. Let's call them the pillow-fighters, 'cause they'd fit right in with the girl contestants at a pajama party."

"And who's in the other group," Alice asked with a suspicious eye.

"Mother's classy ears are present, so let's call them…the pillow biters for their sexual prowess. They're the macho douches that everyone loves to hate. But they always win the girl, they always win the show, and they always win over the public. Because when it comes down to it, a woman would rather bite a pillow than fight with one against some guy who's still talking about his fat ass."

Em pointed at me. "Edward from all outside appearances looks like a pillow biter. But then when he starts in on his hips, and gluten-free brownies, and offers of surrogate mothering? He's worse than a pillow fighter. He's like a…"

He threw his hands up in the air in defeat, unsure how to add insult to pillow-fighting injury.

"A hair braiding pillow fighter," Alice offered.

Em clapped his hands together before pump fisting.

"Exactly!"

My mouth dropped open at the way Alice switched teams so fluidly.

"You know, I'm standing right here, Numb Nuts."

"Okay, enough," Mom finally chimed in. "We get your point. But Edward was chosen precisely for being clean cut. And if he doesn't fit the usual mold, all the better. Maybe HE can set the precedence that a bachelor doesn't have to be a pig to have a successful show run."

Spoken just like a mother – blinded by love.

I wanted to dismiss everything Em had said, and chalk it up to jealousy. But I couldn't because my simple plan had bypassed a crucial possibility: perhaps what works well in the real world, like hard work and decency, may not work as well in this reality programming alternate universe.

I had little exposure to reality shows. My television at home was rarely used beyond an occasional sporting event. But I did frequent my local supermarket often. And the tabloid covers that dangled from the checkout line were infested with those Snookis and Teen Dads and Kardashians - even bachelors and bachelorettes. Celebrities who gained recognition not for hard work or decency.

Quite the opposite.

What if Em was onto something? What if reality land was governed by a different set of rules, and being decent would actually work against me?

**Xxxx**

Emmett's words were quickly forgotten as my family moved into damage control mode. My father contacted Aro, and we explained how I came upon a contestant by accident.

"Why was Ms. Swan at Craftservices? Was she eating?"

Aro was not pleased.

I nodded slowly: "Yeah, she was having some hot wings."

He exhaled a drawn-out sigh. "I told the whole lot of them we didn't need them bloating up like cows onscreen for the taping tonight. Especially since they've already been fitted!"

What the….

"That seems unlikely. "

Aro stared at me crossly.

"The bloating thing, it seems unlikely. Bella's a tiny little girl. She can't weigh more than a buck, buck-o-five…"

"Precisely!" Aro nodded as if we were on the same page. "One hot wing in her is going to equal an extra five pounds in front of the camera. Two hot wings? She's going to look like she's in her second trimester!"

"Mr. Vol-TURE, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault." Alice inserted herself into the conversation, her hand resting lightly now on Aro's forearm. "I gave Bella the wings. Guilty as charged."

Alice was trying to take the heat off Bella, since she was the one to set Bella up in the first place. Aro seemed unmoved though.

"That's sweet of you, but Ms. Swan knew better. We have all the girls in the mansion eating exclusive meals with Fresh Ways Food Meal Delivery service for a tie-in promotion. You can't believe how many of these contestants blow up the second they move into the mansion otherwise."

He was a nasty piece of work, and I cringed at the revelation that Bella was on any sort of diet. Fresh Ways was a hot trend at the moment, thanks to some high level celebrity endorsements. They home delivered three meals a day to your doorstep. But the daily caloric intake was extremely restrictive, and more tailored for overweight customers.

Not a young woman who was small enough to fit in my shirt pocket if she sat Indian Style.

Note to self: make sure Alice got some of those hot wings to Bella on a regular basis so she won't be reduced to a grease spot on the floor by the end of the season.

"I understand where you're coming from Aro, but I wanted to emphasize that it wasn't Bella's fault in anyway that we met. I hope that's understood."

Aro thought for a moment. "You said she didn't realize she was talking to you though, correct?"

"Yes," I answered with a nod. "She had no idea if was me."

"Let's keep it that way then. As long as she doesn't find out that it was you, I won't take her to task about that food binge of hers. Clean slate with Ms. Swan, Edward. Understood?"

"Yes, of course."

I glared over at Alice. How quickly her scheming spiraled out of control and bit everyone in the ass. Because worrying how to navigate my bachelor path wasn't enough, I had to worry about Aro retaliating if Bella figured out that we'd met before too.

**Xxx**

"I don't know what to say."

I was due out in the front of the mansion in ten minutes. There I would greet all the bachelorettes and start the whole process of roses and dates and constant camera supervision.

And I wasn't ready in the slightest.

Emmett cornered me earlier, forcing me to watch a compilation of great moments in "Bachelor" history from Youtube. It took less than fifteen minutes of viewing to see a pattern emerge:

The bachelors were all around my age, same height. They dressed similarly, enjoyed comparable levels of success professionally.

But that's where the likeness ended.

"Take note, Edward, they're not giggling with the girls about whether cocoa butter works best on stretch marks. They're too busy getting the bachelorettes out of their clothes and into the communal spa."

It wasn't just confidence and swagger we were talking about though. There was a distinct "type," just like Emmett had said, that made Bachelor history.

"Yeah, they're all douches," Em concluded. "But my strategy going in was that I would be a douche with a heart . I was planning to model my character arc after Shia La Beouf in Transformers, growing from boy to man right in front of your eyes."

Who was this person and how could we possibly be related?

"So.. when in your character arcing were you going to inform the comely contestants that your mom is the sexiest woman in the world and that you plan to give her the final rose?"

Em slapped me in the back of my head.

"Shut up, sicko. Not Shia La Beouf and his mommy issues. Sam Witwicky-"

"Say Witwicky five times fast-"

Another head slap.

"Stop hitting my head. So you're not hot for Mom, you're just hot for autobot ass. Electronics and stuff. Got it. No wonder you keep bringing up my Easy Bake Oven. It's cause her first name is Easy, isn't it?"

This time, he elbowed my ribs.

"Stop pimping out your slutty appliances and just admit you may need to rethink your presentation here. You don't have long to think either. Like five minutes tops."

We went over a reasonable tweaking in my approach. I reminded him I wasn't trying to sell myself like the other bachelors, who were grasping for reality fame.

"They were going for infamy, I'm just trying to sell some muffins and make people forget that you can be a whore sometimes."

He nodded, as if my dig was just another detail.

"True," Em conceded. "But you can't go straight into selling the muffins if you come off like an insecure nerd with body image issues. You need to dial up your bachelor side, act a little more rakish to lure in the audience. Then you can sell all the muffins you want. But not until then. No more Bella repeats or you're going to get crucified by every tabloid and gossip site known to man. Bye-bye twig and metamucil muffin line, and bye-bye MUFF-ins in general if you know what I'm saying."

I sighed, mortified that Em thought a wink was needed to emphasize what type of muff-ins he was talking about.

That was one double entendre that I wouldn't be passing on to Bella Swan.

**XXXX**

I smiled as the same limousine made yet another circle around the driveway and stopped in front of me.

Three bachelorettes down, seventeen to go.

While I may have trumped Emmett in school, work, and in general wit and manners, there were areas that I bowed down to him. He was good for weight lifting tips, what type of protein shakes worked best.

Or in this case, how to make love to a television camera so America could in turn fall in love with me.

I mentally went over the checklist he'd given me earlier with each new bachelorette introduction.

"_Stand up straight, hands crossed and clasped just above your crotch," Em had instructed earlier. "I know you're always trying to take focus away from your Shakira hips, but tonight you are putting the focus back where it belongs: on the substantial Cullen family jewels. It's an alpha move, a silent clarion call of your virility."_

Almost Hand Crotch Grab.

Check.

"_Wipe that open smile off your face. It's makes you look too accessible. Do a half smirk like I'm doing right now. See that? How my cocky smirk is tempered by the child-like dimple? Deadly combination."_

One smirking dimple.

Check.

"_Narrow your eyes slightly," Em directed. When I attempted an eye-narrowing practice run in front of him, he stopped me._

"_Not too narrow. Good god, you're moving into Leanne Rimes territory there. Like this."_

_Em adjusted his eyes juuuust so. I silently wondered how many years in front of the mirror Em had logged in to calibrate his facial gestures so perfectly. _

One eye-narrowing, light on the Leann.

Check.

"_And don't forget when the bachelorettes get out of the limo, you give them a full-body once over with those narrowed eyes. Not too lingering, because then it's leering. But a couple second glance up and down? Makes you a little cheeky. And no, that's not a slight on your fat ass."_

I waited for Bachelorette number four to hop out so I could pull out my brother's bag of tricks.

But then the door opened and a familiar well-heeled foot appeared. A foot I'd taken special note of earlier while it's owner desecrated some hot wings. Then the rest of her bounced out of the car, a little too quickly.

She closed the door and stood up straight at attention.

Emmett's last instruction practically rang in my head:

"_And don't stare at Bella's chorus line of erect nipples like you did all afternoon. It makes you look like a serious pervert."_

Of course, that admonishment only made me glance at the one place I wasn't supposed to. It was all Alice's fault really, denying her a bra with that flimsy excuse for a dress.

"Ahem." She cleared her throat.

A couple more seconds passed, and then her two hands cupped slightly over her breasts, like deflectors from my gamma ray gaze.

My eyes finally met hers, which were ripe with amusement. A muffled laugh on her end followed.

What the hell were we doing on camera? Would this need to be edited? Did the limo need to take another go around the driveway so we could start over again?

I went over my checklist again, trying to get back on task: Don't let Bella know it was me earlier so she isn't reduced to eating bread and water, per Aro's orders. Clasp my hands near my crotch, narrow my eyes. Pull out a lopsided smirk….

But all of Em's directions seemed inappropriate now. Grabbing near my crotch and smirking seemed in bad form after eyeing Bella up like I just did.

My hands fell to my side, the smirk replaced with a more neutral expression.

She walked towards me, paused for a moment, then grasped my hands in hers, like we were old friends.

Turns out, we were.

"Bella. I'm Bella."

She shook her head up and down nervously, then pointed at me.

" And you. You're Edward. We just watched an introduction on you and who would have thought the bachelor would end up being my childhood boyfriend?"

I looked at her in confusion.

"You know, the face of Esme's Big Boy? I mean, you were my breakfast date every morning when I spent summers with my dad. He couldn't cook for shit. "

Bella caught her four-lettered slip-up, covering her mouth with her hand. I was about to help her smooth things over, but another bout of verbal waterfalling burst through.

"But look at you now, Ms. Thang. Mr. Thang, whatever. " She bit her bottom lip nervously. "You pulled a total Reverse Prince William on us."

What?

"You know, a reverse Wills. He was so cute as a kid, even cuter as a teen. And then his dad's genes wreaked havoc on him in adulthood with the teeth and the long face and the bald spot…"

She caught herself now, as I shook my head at her slightly. What was she doing?

Bella clapped her hands and took a deep breath.

"But long story short. You actually did a 180 instead. You went from a tubby ginge kid to…Prince Harry. You're Prince-Hot-Ginge hot."

Awkward silence ensued, as Bella's cheeks went into full blushing mode.

"I…don't know what to say to that," I finally responded.

Was that a compliment? A backhanded compliment? Maybe even a slight?

"What did you say?" Bella bent her head in closer, as if I hadn't spoken loud enough. Maybe I hadn't.

"I said I don't know what to say to that. "

Her mouth dropped open as her eyes flashed some recognition with my voice. Bella's hands went to my hips immediately, giving them one firm squeeze. Then she leaned in closer before whispering: "I'd know those birthing hips anywhere."

**Xxxx**

.


	7. Polly Pockets and Day Walkers

**Chapter 7: Day Walkers and Polly Pockets**

a/n: important details from last chapter:

-Edward received douche charm training from Emmett, including how to smirk and squint his eyes

-Edward promised Aro that he would not let on to Bella that he was Mr. Lady Hips, or else Bella will get in trouble for eating at craftservices. So he vows to keep enough distance so that she won't find out.

Xxxxx

**Definitions of gingers as sourced from "South Park's" awesomely legendary ginger episode:**

**Daywalkers**: "Some people have red hair but not light skin and freckles. These people are called daywalkers. Like vampires, the ginger gene is a curse."

**Ginger Kids**: Red haired children with light skin and freckles….and no souls.

xxxxxxx

**Bella**

_This was how I planned it_, I repeated to myself. _This was what I wanted._

I looked around, nursing my cheap glass of wine – did Aro and Co. pour this shit from a box?- and took in the view before me.

Small gangs consisting of dolled-up bachelorettes loitered around the outdoor patio area of the bachelor mansion. The faux-Morroccan theme continued out here, with throw pillows and rugs everywhere. Lots of stringed lights, extras dressed up like butlers holding trays of delicious Hors d'oeuvres that we were commanded not to touch.

"Don't even inhale near the tray, it will go straight to your thighs," were Aro's exact words.

Bitter queen.

And in the middle of this circus? Was Hot Ginge, currently holding court with a flock of lovelies.

You've come a long way, Big Boy.

We watched a mini-biographical introduction earlier that had revealed his identity. The bachelor was none other than Edward Cullen, that cherubic franchise face that we all grew up with. But gone was the childhood pudge and now Esme's Big Boy was all grown-up and corporate and eligible. We found out that he had just finished his first marathon. That he was interested in changing the eating habits of children across the nation, fueled in part from his own youthful challenges with weight. And unsurprisingly, was high up in his family mom-and-pop business that was now a major franchise game player.

He also liked pina coladas, getting caught in the rain, and making love at midnight.

Well, maybe that last part came from the lyrics of a cheesy 70's song, but the rest of the introduction had that smarmy-personals-ad feel to it.

The only thing the introduction didn't reveal was his face. That was being saved for the actual in-person meet and greet.

And what a face it was.

He was a big boy still, just in different ways. Towering around 6'3", he was built like a brick house. That boy could fill out a designer suit like nobody's business.

The crown jewel on the person of Edward Cullen however was his face. Chiseled was the best way to describe it. A jawline that could launch a thousand smut scenes, cheekbones I could sharpen a butcher knife on.

But those eyes -wide, open, almost child-like - were the same as that little boy I grew up with. It made me forget for a moment as I rushed towards him and treated the introduction more like a reunion.

He seemed taken aback by my enthusiasm. I tried to recalibrate my enthusiasm, falling back on humor. That turned his recoiling into second-hand embarrassment. I wasn't sure what to fall back on from there.

But then he spoke with that distinctive voice, and everything came into focus:

This was Mr. Lady Hips. The boy who let me feel up his hip junk and flirted with my fruity pebbles and was a little bit shy and silly.

A little like me.

HE was the house pimp for the season.

I called him out quietly right there on the spot, whispering my revelation. I even gave him a conspiratorial wink. All that garnered from him was a blank stare – not a hint of recognition.

I walked away from our introduction wondering if he remembered. Wondering if I had imagined that whole run-in even. Or maybe he was waiting for a more discreet time to reconnect.

But it was over an hour later, the welcoming party was in full swing, and he hadn't even looked in my direction.

Mr. Cullen had other distractions around him now though. Distractions that even I understood, wrapped up in long legs and pleasant smiles all glossed in shades of red and pink.

This was how I planned it, I reminded myself. This was what I wanted.

One night's work as the mousey girl for a summer's admission to the happiest place on earth. A lengthy stay at a beach resort of a house in the city of angels, complete with a pool and spa …

….and a foodless kitchen.

….and a friendless house.

With the exception of Miko of course. She was currently fluttering around the various girl gangs socializing.

Or as she described it, "commanding intel-gathering missions."

She saddled up to me casually, swaying her hips to the music playing in the background.

Smooth jazz of course, the music of choice for cheesedicks everywhere.

"So what did your surveillance mission come up with, Ms. Jones?"

Miko grimaced - not a good sign. "Well, word on the whorehouse street is that you made yet another scene with the bachelor introduction. Something about you telling him he was an ugly kid?"

"I did not say that!"

In so many words.

"I said he started out not hot but ended up hot. And what if I had said he started out hot? That would turn into a whole different reality show entirely, with Chris Hanson asking me to take a seat by the pitcher of lemonade."

I leaned in closer: "Maybe he did get offended though, who knows. Confession time."

Miko's eager eyes betrayed how much she liked confessions.

"Hot Gingey over there? And Mr. Big (Hips)? Are one and the same."

Miko gasped. I'd previously told her about my run-in with a sweet stranger, who said a couple not-so-sweet and mildly racy things in my direction. She looked over at him now, sitting on his rattan throne.

"But ever since we were formally introduced, he's treated me like the plague. He won't even look in my direction."

She thought for a moment.

"But he sounded so enchanted by your nipples earlier…and you too of course."

That last part sounded like an afterthought.

"Well, apparently every girl in this room has an enchanting pair too. He's currently neck deep in nipples, that happen to be attached to bigger breasts."

"Oh shush. Maybe he didn't recognize you?"

I arched my eyebrow at her own obliviousness.

"He's not the one who was blindfolded, Miko. "

She paused for a moment.

Then she grabbed me by the arms, making me face her while keeping my back towards the bachelor. "Well, it's our turn to entertain Gingey. The girls who were socializing with him are leaving him now. Ho switch-up time."

She glanced over my shoulder before looking back at me.

"Okay, no more moping. "

"I'm not mo-"

"Of course you are, " she interrupted." You were still giggling an hour after meeting his hips. I'm betting he simply needs a memory joggle. Now turn on that blush of yours and I'll take care of the rest."

Her busy bee fingers fluttered out of nowhere and proceeded to give me a quick, dual titty twister.

"What the hell, Miko?" I shielded my breasts with my hands.

She shrugged. "Every girl has a signature feature. Mine are my lips. And you? You have those resilient nipples of yours that could poke through burlap if they needed to."

xxx

"Boxers or briefs?"

I glared at Kendra, the gal responsible for that inquiry in our getting-to-know-the-bachelor game. Because that question wasn't already lame the first time it was posed to Bill Clinton twenty years back.

There were four bachelorettes including myself currently orbiting Edward Cullen on the patio couches, but another six or so girls lingered nearby.

And somewhere out there, Gloria Steinhem was flipping us the bird for having waited in line to do such orbiting.

Edward raised an index finger dramatically.

"Boxer-_briefs_."

Everyone laughed, as if Cullen had actually said something witty. As if boxer-briefs weren't the male undergarment equivalent of jeggings.

Noncomittal bastard. Pick a side.

And you'd have thought he'd be embarrassed by the obvious fawning. Lady Hips sounded downright shy just hours earlier. But no… Hot Gingey just sat back and took it all in with a self-satisfied smirk. Who knew those big, pretty eyes could squint so arrogantly?

"Football or baseball," Miko asked. She tapped a finger on her chin. "Or maybe soccer?"

"Baseball, of course." I was sitting next to Edward, with Miko on the other side of me. He leaned forward slightly, treating me like an obstructing houseplant he had to look past to get to Miko's lovely view. "It's America's favorite pastime, right?"

Another round of polite laughter.

"Yeah, " I chimed in. "I mean all those pinko-loving commies have really ruined football for me too."

That got his attention.

Bingo - I had just found my niche in this conversation: Bella Swan, shit-stirring, socially obstructing houseplant.

"Britney Spears or Katy Perry," Jackie inquired.

My eyes narrowed in anticipation to his answer.

"Katy Perry."

"Katy Perry? Really?" I shook my head at him, like he'd just betrayed me once more this evening.

"What," he chuckled, a hint of hesitation in his voice.

"Are you kidding? Katy Perry took us white girls fifty years back with our dancing bragging rights. All the progress Britney made in the 90's and 00's? Flew out the window when Katy Perry started knock-kneeing her way through videos. "

Miko shook her head slighty at my outburst.

But there were some things you needed to stand up for. Like God, country, and Britney Spears. Because when I was a spastic little white girl who could impale herself on things when just trying to walk in a straight line? Britney Spears had a dream. A dream for me and every other uncoordinated white girl who watched too many John Hughes movies and had concluded that it was our destiny to be spastic. Britney dreamed of a day when little white girls and little black girls could hold hands in rhythmic solidarity, dancing side by side, the way she did with Beyonce in that Pepsi commercial years back.

And it might have taken me four years of hip hop dance classes and endless rounds of humiliation, but I realized my part in that dream too.

"It's a post-Britney world, there's no excuse for that sort of uncoordination. The dancing Katy does on stage in her performances? Straight up Pretty-in- Pink-Ducky shit."

His eyebrows furrowed, but that smirk - that blasted cocky smirk he had been wearing all night - was still present.

"You're getting a little worked up over this," he commented, looking amused. As if I was I was something to laugh at.

"No, I just hate when someone prefers flash over function."

_And nipples attached to lower IQs while wearing a douche smirk._

"Are we even talking about Britney anymore," Miko whispered in my ear before clearing her throat.

"Your turn, Bella," she said, changing the subject swiftly. She nudged me in the direction of the camera filming me.

Oh right. My disillusionment tantrum was being broadcasted for a national audience.

"Pick a subject you love most," she prompted.

Two things came to mind at once:

Food

Gingers

And my mouth formed the only words that seemed to fuse both loves simultaneously.

"Bobby Flay."

Edward looked at me. "Bobby Flay what?"

"Um….Bobby Flay or Mario Batali."

"Which one cooks better?" Edward inquired, looking a bit confused.

That would be too easy, Big Boy.

"No, who's hotter?"

Edward's eyebrows knitted in confusion. "I'm not…really qualified to judge that."

"Of course you are," I insisted. "Gingers are always qualified to judge other gingers."

"No, " he said while shaking his head. "Because I'm a guy, and…"

He stopped for a moment. "Did you just call me a ginger?"

I heard muffled laughter to the side of me – some big moose of a guy with cute dimples and a douche smirk was cracking up in the far corner of the patio.

I went back to focusing on Edward's hair: "Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

"Because my hair's not red, it's auburn," he responded a tad too stiffly.

"Your hair isn't red – it's gingey," I corrected. "And nothing's wrong with being a Ginger. You're not even 100 proof. You're more day-walker status with the freckle-free complexion and darker tint."

I patted his knee reassuringly. "Don't worry, your soul's intact still."

I thought I was being funny. If anyone could take a little gentle ribbing about his looks, it should've been Mr. Superabs-Sexy Pants 2011. But the other girls stared at me like I was Satan himself. Miko's finger went back to her lips, trying to rein me in. And the only tangible sound was the Moose cracking up even harder now. Edward glared in his direction.

I tried to backtrack.

"Gingers _are_ the new black you know."

Now it was Miko's turn to give me some cut-eye.

I tried to backtrack on the backtrack.

"As in the color. Not the race. Although race is simply a failed social construct and not a reality. But anyways…."

Miko closed her eyes in anticipation of the new onset of diarrhea.

"Gingers are the new black-as-in-color because Gingers are hot nowadays, with Prince Harry leading the charge. Along with Paul Bethany, and Bobby Flay of course. I mean, I would throw down on Bobby's red hot chile pepper any day of the week—"

"Yes, Bella," Miko chimed in. "You do love your spicy foods. You should see this girl pile on the jalapenos on her nachos. Anyways, maybe Edward could tell us who he'd rather have cook for him: Mario or Bobby?"

And just like that, the social gathering around me went back to civilized discussion, as if my outbursts were just a bad dream for all of us.

As if I were just a bad houseplanted dream altogether.

Although a half an hour later as I nursed yet another glass of wine on the fringe of the party, a lone person wouldn't let me live it down. No… he wanted to celebrate it.

"Pssst….Hey. Hey you," the dimpled moose whispered conspiratorially in my direction - the way I imagined most flashers summoned their victims' attention.

"Hey, yourself."

Then he did something I imagined most flashers didn't do. He lifted up a grease-stained "In-n-Out Burger" bag that was accompanied with a come-hither finger. I could smell its greasy contents from where I stood.

I approached him without a word, hiked myself upon the brick fence next to where he was sitting, pulled a burger out of the bag, and began chomping.

And chomping.

And slurping up the milkshake.

And licking off the ketchup from my fingers that were falling off the fries I was devouring.

'Wow, your parents never taught you the "don't take candy from strangers" rule, did they? You're lucky you didn't end up on the back of a milk carton,' he mentioned with a sly smile, the douche smirk dialed down finally. He jutted out his hand.

"Emmett. People call me Em for short. "

'Bella. People call me "Social Outcast" for short.'

He whooped out a burly laugh. "That's longer than your actual name. But yeah, that sounds about right. That was just….what the hell happened to you back there earlier?"

The only answer I gave him was a defeated shrug. His slanted his head to the side to keep eye contact with me.

"Don't get me wrong, you've been the one bright light in this dull crowd all day. But what _was_ that?"

I shrugged my shoulders in defeat. "That was me being me. Which is why I try to limit my social interaction most of the time."

I pointed to the burger booty.

"What's _this_?"

He smiled mischievously. "That's your reward for wearing this cute little dress tonight." He gave the bottom hem a quick pull. "….and for calling my brother a day-walking ginger on national television."

My mouth dropped open, a bad idea since it was shoved full with fries.

"Edward's your brother?"

He gave me a nodding half-smile.

"Oh my god, you are his brother. Same douche smirk."

Xxx

Long story short, Emmett told me he was Edward's brother. That he was working behind the scenes on the show in order to help his brother get more acclimated to his new gig.

"Let's just say that he needs me to explain the art of being charming, especially in front of a television camera. Apparently when he was busy holding onto mama's apron strings as a child, he missed a few socializing milestones."

"Me too," I said in all seriousness.

He explained that he'd been behind the scenes all day –

"I saw you stealing all those Cliff Bars, only to spit them out poolside."

"Hey, it's not stealing when they're complimentary," I said in my defense. "Besides, they were probably complimentary because they tasted like doorstops."

"Exactly," he concurred.

And apparently, I'd made the biggest impression on him in the group for some unknown reason.

"Yeah, you made the biggest impression with that nipple confession."

Okay, maybe not-so-unknown.

"Seriously, that was the best introduction ever in the history of the show."

He was staring expectantly now at my torso, like he was waiting for my auxi- nipples to personally thank him for the compliment.

"So how do you care for them," he said with a nod in their direction, his douche smirk returning.

"I have to water them three times a day, and make sure they get enough sunlight." I punched him in the arm. "They're nipples, not pet gerbils."

He laughed, his eyes still frozen in their direction.

"Where are they located, exactly?"

Weirdo.

I was about to put him in his place when Edward caught my attention on the other side of the patio. He had lovelies perched all around him as usual; but for some reason, we had his full attention right now.

Showtime.

I wiped my mouth daintily, then blushed while grinning coyly at Emmett.

"You really want to know their undisclosed location?"

He nodded like a naughty school boy.

I pointed both my index fingers in front of Emmett's face, then slowly redirected them back to my auxi's.

Emmett's face lit up like a kid's on Christmas, his own hands ghosting mine now, mere inches away.

Oddball.

"Can I….." His voice faltered right then, but judging from his twitchy thumbs , it wasn't hard to figure out the request.

"What, you want to touch them?"

"Thank you, yes…"

I was about to tell them that was a clarification, not a request, but his hands were already going to work in an oddly appealing way. His big moose hands wrapped slowly around my waist, gaining a firm grip. Then his thumbs sought out the resting place where my own fingers had been.

"Right there?," he asked quietly, his eyes trained on mine now. I couldn't help but break out in silent laughter.

"Uh, yeah. You know, you'd get more friction and pleasure from rubbing the blackhead on my chin—"

"Shhh," he scolded, my words threatening to ruin the moment. His thumbs began to slowly brush back and forth, gauging my reaction with a lazy smile.

"Like that?"

A loud laugh ripped through me now. "Like what? You realize what you're touching isn't like a normal nipple right? You're basically feeling up a pimple right now."

"Oh, I know. I know…" His smile was more sheepish now, but it sure didn't stop his thumbs. "It just feels so….intimate still. Comforting…"

In a weird way, he was right. We were both talking in hushed whispers that were brinking on giggles, our faces mere inches away.

"Like," he started again, thumbs still going to town, "what if everyone had auxi-nipples and we just touched them instead of shaking hands. That would be so fucking cool…."

He kept on talking, but I couldn't hear it over the gulps of air I was trying to take in between giggles.

"Oh my god, I think you just figured out the solution for world peace. Someone give this guy a Nobel Peace-"

"What the hell?"

Em and I jerked our heads in the same direction – we were met with Edward's face displaying equal parts of horror and anger. His eyes were frozen on Emmett's fast and furious thumbs.

"What are you doing to her?"

"They're not real nipples-" was all Emmett got out before Edward stomped on his foot and ordered him to get up.

He then turned his ire my way.

"And why are you letting him," he muttered without looking at me.

Why was I?

"But they _really_ aren't real nipples," was all that came to mind. Which made Emmett point in my direction and start laughing.

"Exactly, Polly! Exactly." He turned to Edward now. "In a perfect world, that's how we'd shake hands, mofo!"

"Polly? My name's Bella," I called out.

Emmett shook his head.

"No, it's Polly Pocket now. " He cupped his hands together as Edward started carting him off in the direction of the poolhouse. "Cause you're so cute and tiny enough to fit in my little pocket!"

I could hear Edward muttering for him to shut up before they rounded a corner and disappeared.

"He's cute. Really cute."

Miko was standing beside me now, always knowing where to find the action.

"Yeah. He's Edward's _brother_."

She shot me a "oh-no-you-di'in't" smile.

Oh, yes I kinda did. And I felt a little sick over it too.

"Wow. First you feel up one brother. Then you get felt up by another when the first one ignores you. You've been a very busy little bee tonight, Ms. Swan."

I wanted to tell her she was wrong, but she wasn't. I'd acted like a reactionary psycho all evening, just because I felt rejected.

She picked up my milkshake and started sipping while we listened to the muffled bickering between the two somewhere in the distance.

"Yeah, consider me de-rosed for the evening. My work here is done."

She snorted. "That's not happening anytime soon, honey."

"Oh yes it is. You didn't see the way Edward looked at me right now. You couldn't pay him to rose me now. Which was the game plan anyways. "

Miko sighed. "Haven't I taught you anything, Bella?"

She pointed in the direction of Aro, who was all flying hands and bitchy commands at the moment. A lighting and cameraman were rushing along with him in Edward's direction.

'Aro's been complaining about "chemistry" issues all evening. Translation? Edward's coming off flat, as are the bachelorettes, especially together. But add in the square peg, her charming bff, and an older brother to the mix?"

"I'm a square peg now? Cause I thought I was the love child of Gary Busey and A.J. Maclean."

"No, you're kinda like the Jerry Lewis to my Dean Martin now. But between us and those Cullen boys, and the potential for brother-against-brother romantic strife with the square peg? That's some Cain and Abel meets "She's All That" gold standard programming there, Bella. There's no way Aro would let Edward not rose you now. "

Little did I know how right she would be.

**Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Thanks for reading! And on a sidenote, "Prince Hot Ginge" is the nickname for Prince Harry on Michael K's "Dlisted."


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